


appl;qué

by sarangway



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, M/M, Romance, assistant sanha, editor-in-chief minhyuk, fashion magazine, kinda mean boss minhyuk, sunshine sanha......as expected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-03-21 06:10:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 36,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13734792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarangway/pseuds/sarangway
Summary: read as: appliquéfor park minhyuk, editor-in-chief of sat;n magazine, the most important thing was doing things properly and to the highest level of quality. despite all of his co-workers feeling like he had compromised kindness for this extreme need of perfection, one boy seems pretty satisfied with how mr. park treats him, and that boy was yoon sanha, assistant to the editor-in-chief and fashion disaster.





	1. Chapter 1

Yoon Sanha knew that nothing was as out of place as _him_ in a fashion magazine firm, but he found himself sending the application anyway. Sanha dressed like an old woman: mismatched sweaters with awkwardly cropped pants (which wasn’t his fault since he was just too tall for most pants), along with his corduroy jacket that he refused to take off since high school. Sanha was now twenty-four and he found himself being a bit pressured by his mother for not keeping any steady jobs yet. He was capable for sure, but it was hard to not find himself just generally bored with working as a delivery man or bookstore cashier.

So when the job offer popped up as an assistant for an editor, Sanha was sure that his Korean was adequate enough to help someone fix up articles. His brother, Jinwoo, had teased him that maybe it wasn’t. Just because his essays always fell just slightly short of an A didn’t mean that he was bad.

To think that he had passed the application process and the interview had been so surprising to him, as he clutched his corduroy jacket closer to him and blinked at the email for a few minutes. Even Jinwoo checked the receiver three times before confirming that he really had been hired. The first thing he did after that was put another pair of cropped pants into his online shopping cart and be practice his bowing in the mirror for an hour afterwards.

His first day wasn’t as he expected it would go, the shoes he was wearing getting coffee poured on them and his hair being flipped every which way by the wind, but he arrived safely and made his way to get his ID photo taken and be shown where his desk would be as well as setting up his computer and preparing him for his responsibilities. When he thought he was settled, a man appeared before him with his hands shoved into a suave coat. Sanha could tell that he was not only wearing the latest trends, but even the latest update to that trend. He was intimidated for sure and couldn’t help but shuffle his coffee-stained shoes further under the desk.

“You’re Yoon Sanha, right?” The man’s voice was higher than he expected, and he felt a little less scared now.

“Y-yes! I’m the new assistant to the editor here.”

“Ah, Minhyuk’s assistant…good luck with that.” The man laughed a bit. “I’m Moon Bin, I work in hiring and the graphic design. I’m actually the one who chose you.”

“Oh! Was it because of my photo? I know I look a lot younger there, but I swear I really _am_ twenty-four-”

“Er, no, it was actually because you had no experience in fashion.”

Sanha just squinted. Maybe he was going to be pranked by being hired here. If he could remember well, working at such a big magazine would require a lot of prior experience, even if he was just going to be an assistant and would most likely be making coffee runs over anything. “Because I..?”

                “Mr. Park, good morning.” Sanha whipped his head around to see who Bin was talking to, and he couldn’t help but have his jaw drop at the man walking by. A long caramel colored coat layered over a black turtleneck, paired with black slacks and _earrings_ that dangled and lightly hit his neck as he walked made it a lot harder for Sanha to move his eyes from him. He couldn’t see what his hair looked like under his wide-brimmed hat and also because he had moved too quickly, but Sanha was hoping from the bottom of his heart that he’d have to see that man a lot in the future. Luck was on his side, however, as Bin turned his attention back to him. “That’s your boss.”

***

                Maybe his corduroy jacket wasn’t as impressive as his heart had made it out to be; or at least that’s how he felt when he was sat directly across from his new boss with nothing but an ID around his neck and a very small amount of confidence. He couldn’t help his leg twitching but he stopped it when Minhyuk’s eyes lingered over to it. Minhyuk looked over the folder that Bin had given him with Sanha’s information and Sanha hoped that he hadn’t made any mistakes. The tension was making him uncomfortable, so he spoke up despite a tiny Jinwoo in his brain telling him not to talk.

                “U-um! I really like your coat, Minhyuk!” The man looked up, startled. “I know I’m not the most fashionable one around, but I think that I’ll be able to assist you very well! Maybe I can learn things from you too, you could be like my mentor or something like that. I’ve always liked watching fashion shows even if I never wear anything that’s in trend though…my brother always says that I look like I walked out of a thrift shop or something. But that’s actually not an insult to me because you always see those bloggers going into thrift stores and getting really cool vintage-”

                “So you’re twenty-four.”

                Sanha wasn’t sure why that shut him up so quickly, but his mouth closed and he just nodded.

                “Right, well, don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re going to be doing a ton of mundane tasks until you can prove you’re good enough to work with me.” Sanha felt like that came off as a bit pretentious, but he still agreed. “For one, get me a coffee from down the block. I only drink an Iced Americano with two sugars and extra ice.”

                The younger stood up and gave him a sturdy nod, saluting him. “Of course, Minhyuk! One Iced Americano with two sugars and extra ice!” He turned around to head out of the door and saw some employees gathered around the door with their jaws dropped to the floor. He popped his head out of the door and looked back at Minhyuk before waving with a cute smile and pushing through the crowd.

***

                “Iced Americano with two sugars and uh…and extra ice!” Sanha handed over the company credit card and waited by the handoff deck for it to be finished. It was a cute little café, and since it was so close to the company building it made sense why Minhyuk would prefer to get his coffee here. Sanha wondered if he would be grabbing coffee for Minhyuk often. He wouldn’t mind too much, he decided as he grabbed the drink and went to head out of the door, because it was a nice walk to take anyway. Minhyuk was interesting so far and it made him wonder why his employees seemed so scared of him. He hadn’t noticed this when he saw him initially, but the amount of people that grabbed his arm and asked him _how was it?_ when he walked out of his office was astounding. To Sanha, he was just a really cute and admirable man. Besides, he had caught that brief smile when he made his way out of the office.

                Entering the office again brought him upon a scene of Minhyuk leaning over someone’s shoulder as they showed him an outline of a new article. Minhyuk’s stance was rather aggressive, and he could tell by his expression that he didn’t like what he was reading. He pointed at the screen and frowned, leaning over and pressing the delete button before the writer could say anything. Sanha watched as the writer looked angrier and angrier, and before he opened his mouth, Sanha opened his.

                “Minhyuk! I got your coffee!” The office went silent and Minhyuk looked up with a sour look. Sanha wasn’t entirely sure why, considering his Iced Americano indeed had extra ice _and_ two sugars. Still, he walked over and handed him his coffee with a bright, sunshine-y smile and waited for a thank you (which didn’t come). The writer held in a frustrated sigh as Minhyuk took the coffee and walked back into his office, leaving the poor employee to rewrite everything he had just showed. That seemed a little harsh to Sanha. Once back into Minhyuk’s office with the door closed, he cleared his throat. “You know, Minhyuk, that was a little mean of you back there.”

                “Why are you calling me that?”

                Sanha blinked. Had he gotten his name mixed up? Was he not Minhyuk, but Moonhyuk? Possibly Minho? Sanha never was that great at listening. “Huh?”

                “Everyone here refers to me as Mr. Park, and you should too.”

                “Oh, that! Well, I thought since I’m going to be your assistant, it would be best to be close to you quicker.” He gave him a thumbs up. “I’ll be helping you for a long time!”

                 “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Yoon.”

                “Yoon...? Oh, that’s cute. You can just call me Sanha, though since we’re friends now.”

                “Y-” Sanha pouted at him until he pursed his lips and tried again. “ _Sanha_. Make your way to makeup and tell Dongmin to email me the spread he’s working on or else we’re going to have to use the backup.” He was saluted for the second time today, and Sanha bounced out of the room until he realized that he had no idea where the makeup was. Slowly, he awkwardly walked back to Minhyuk’s office and smiled at him.

                “I don’t know where it is.” Minhyuk muttered a _damn it_ under his breath and got up to lead Sanha downstairs, where all of the makeup-artists and stylists dwelled. Being in their space while the lights were bright on a shoot and models were passing by them constantly was making Sanha feel not only extremely small, but also very out of place considering their outfits cost more than his college tuition. Being surrounded by beautiful people was rather exciting as well and watching Minhyuk make his way through the crowd made it very obvious that he belonged.

                After a few more minutes of searching, they came upon Lee Dongmin (or Cha Eunwoo as his spreads would read) carefully patting glitter on a model’s eyelid with his ring finger. Without turning around, Dongmin knew that Minhyuk was behind him, and he finished up the look with a bright smile at the model before turning around and shooting the smile towards the editor-in-chief.

Sanha was enamored with the man before him. His shirt was white and billowy, warm brown pants giving him a princely look. His makeup was also so gorgeous, and Sanha very quickly picked up that he was the head makeup-artist for the magazine. The look he had just done for the model as well as the one he was wearing now was so eye-catching that Sanha understood why.

“Mr. Park, what are you doing down here?” Dongmin turned to a mirror and touched up his lips. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I need the article by three p.m. or it can’t be published in this volume.” Sanha’s head started moving to explore but he felt Minhyuk’s hand fall on top of Sanha’s hair to turn it back to Dongmin. “Just get it to me before then or I’ll have to use your backup from three seasons ago, which will look absolutely outdated.”

“That’s a really bad thing! I know because I watched Project Runway and they said if it looks outdated it can totally ruin even the craftsmanship.”

Dongmin choked back a laugh and gestured at Sanha with his makeup brush. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Sanha! I’m Minhyuk’s new assistant. So far I’ve only grabbed coffee for him, but I think that my job is pretty important nonetheless.” Sanha gave him a beaming smile and watched as Dongmin’s expression softened ever-so-slightly.

“Oh wow, you’re so pretty Sanha. I wish you were my assistant instead.”

“That’s enough, we’re going to get going now.” Minhyuk spun on his heel and made his way towards the stairs, leaving Sanha to wave at Dongmin and trail behind him closely. Working as a makeup-artist’s assistant would have proven to be a lot more difficult for Sanha. Not only had he never done makeup in his life, he had never even worn it before. At least he had written before (for his school paper nonetheless), which meant that his job would be a bit easier. Though, he wasn’t so sure he would be using any writing skills any time soon. That wasn’t strange since it was his first day after all, but he did want to verify himself as useful to the team.

***

                “So you check all the articles before they go into the magazine?”

                “Yes. I make sure they’re up to Satin Magazine standards.”

                When Sanha first found out about the magazine’s name, he was a bit confused. The way it was stylized was “sat;n”, which worried him after a google search of English words met him with “satan”, but he found after that it was for satin, a luxurious fabric that really did fit the magazine’s image. It fit Minhyuk’s image alone, too.

                “So what am _I_ going to do? As your assistant, I mean.” Sanha was so excited he was close to rocking in his chair.

                “You’ll probably check some grammatical issues and proofread after I edit.” Minhyuk tossed a stack of papers at Sanha who just barely caught them. It looked like a first press copy of the magazine, just without the binding. “Look over that for now and you’ll get a good idea of what we do here.”

                Sanha sat down across from him again, flipping through the papers carefully and becoming more absorbed in the articles as he turned pages. Despite knowing nothing about what was written, the raw passion behind everything in the magazine was so evident that his eyes were stuck on the pages. Every photo was so striking that Sanha almost felt his heart flutter as he ran his fingers over the vibrant colors. From cover to cover, he felt like this was what hard-work and excellence looked like. He pushed the copy across the desk until it came under Minhyuk’s hand. “I don’t see anything wrong with it, it looks so incredible.”

                “Well, that’s why you’re the rookie here.” Minhyuk flipped to a page (one of Sanha’s favorites) and began to tear it apart. Whether it be the color palette, the font choices, or the makeup job on the model, Minhyuk was nitpicking it all and explaining why everything on the page was just plain old wrong. Sanha really was a rookie then, because everything Minhyuk had pointed out as a fatal mistake was something that Sanha had loved. Maybe there was just a difference between people with how they viewed mistakes and beautiful things.

                Still, Sanha listened to everything Minhyuk said with only tiny distractions of being lost in his long eyelashes or watching his very nicely taken care of hands sweep across sentences. He knew that it wasn’t very professional to sit and admire his boss like that, but there was just too much to be enamored with for Sanha to ignore it. And when Minhyuk removed his hat to run his hand through his hair, Sanha had just about lost it. His hair was a warm coppery-brown color, cut short on the sides with a curly head of hair on the top that looked so _soft_ despite Minhyuk’s demeaner being everything but.

                “…also, you need to lose that jacket.” Sanha snapped back to reality and pulled his jacket closer around him.

                “I’m sorry, Minhyuk, but I can’t do that.”

                “Excuse me?”

                “This is my favorite jacket, I’ve worn it since like middle school. It was my older brother’s before and now it’s mine and it’s my most prized possession. I know it probably doesn’t look like much to someone who wears Channel coats and Louis Vuitton pants, but it keeps me warm and that’s all that matters!”

                “Louis Vuitton pan…alright.” Minhyuk shook his head but allowed him to keep it on for now anyway. Since he was just an assistant and wouldn’t have any interviews or appearances for a while, Minhyuk let him off the hook. He assured him that the second there was an event he would be fitted for a suit. Sanha didn’t mind suits anyway, so he nodded.

***

                Sanha wasn’t sure how taking things upstairs for the post office was part of his job description, but he still took it since it came from Minhyuk, and he lugged the three large envelopes up to the thirtieth floor. Despite taking the elevator, his arms still felt sore from just holding them for that long. Sanha was curious what was inside the envelopes, but he decided not to pry when he had taken them. Damn it, he told himself, next time he would pry.

                By the time he had made his way back to the ground floor and through the sliding glass doors, he noticed that Minhyuk’s office had all the lights turned off and the blinds shut. Sanha blinked a few times before looking around the rest of the office with a dejected puppy look. Had Minhyuk left early without even _telling_ him? Sure, they had just met that day, but he felt like they had to be a lot closer than for him to just leave like that. He grabbed his bag from his desk he had only used once today and sighed, drawing the attention from Bin just a seat to the right of him.

                “So, how was your first day working for Mr. Park?”

                “It was great! Mr. Park is a great boss you know.” Sanha smiled sunnily and swung his bag a bit as Bin cocked an eyebrow.

                “Are you serious? You’re telling me he wasn’t rude to you all day?”

                “Rude? Not really. Why would you say that?”

                “You know, we call him Deimos around here.” That rung a bell for Sanha. “It’s the god of terror.”

                “Oh! From Fantasy War Tactics! I always main as Deimos-”

                “No, like Greek mythology.” Bin chuckled at him before looking over his outfit again. “Well, if Mr. Park went home early then you have nothing to do. You can go home early if you want to.” Sanha nodded and gave him a full ninety-degree bow before heading out of the building. He had to admit that a giant sigh was finally let out as well as a weight on his shoulders gone, but he didn’t have the heart to chalk it up to Mr. Park at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh...............hewwo.  
> is this ? more socky?? ? ? WITH THE SOCKY QUEEN HERSELF????? i think YES  
> so this is gonna be a cute lil collab fic with me and Katie :3c we're gonna be alternating chapters and pov's (between sanha and rocky) NDDDDDD IM RLY EXCITED ND I HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT!!!!!!! WOOHOO!!!!!!!!!  
> this chap was written by me (asha) so i hope that u guys liked it nd pls look forward to katie's chap so i can cry abt how i can never continue after her greatness  
> hit me (up) @[jingrapher](http://jingrapher.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

                By the time he was sixteen years old, Minhyuk could memorise every designer to feature at Paris Fashion Week, and had seen - and _critiqued_ \- just about every notable fashion film ever produced. He had subscriptions to at least five major fashion magazines with both national and international recognition, and instead of getting drunk on his eighteenth birthday, he spent it at the office wherein he served his time as an intern to the then-Editor-in-Chief of Sat;n.

                Later that same year, he made his way up the company ladder for the first time, and by the time he celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday, he also celebrated being the youngest Editor-in-Chief Sat;n had ever seen. He had done it young; achieved what many said he’d never achieve. He was successful; he was intelligent; and he had more experience under his belt than his employees did designer pants.

                Which was why he couldn’t get his head around _Yoon Sanha._

                He was only a year younger than he was, but from what Minhyuk could gather, he was inexperienced in almost every field - Minhyuk wasn’t sure _why_ Moon Bin had hired _him_ in the first place - but even still, surely the boy knew how to use a knife and fork properly.

                Minhyuk’s office was divided from Sanha’s desk by a wall of glass, and although everyone could see _in_ , they generally kept their eyes downcast when they walked by. Minhyuk didn’t mind so much; he took this time to actually observe his workers, to see who was behaving, to see who very well clearly _wasn’t._ Right now, though, Minhyuk finds himself taking the opportunity to study Sanha.

                Lee Dongmin had made the comment in passing. _You’re so pretty._ Minhyuk wonders if he’d think the same if he saw Yoon Sanha _now._ Minhyuk grumbles to himself, though, because of course, he would. Anyone would.

                Minhyuk usually prided himself as being someone to see past what everyone else saw - to see the unseeable - which was why he was as successful and as accomplished as he was. So, Minhyuk found it annoying that he had become one of them. _One of them_ being those to find Sanha uncommonly _pretty_ and _handsome_ , and so very _fitting_ for this kind of workplace, despite the oversized sweaters he wore from what seemed nearly ten years ago, and the checked trousers hemmed far too obscure to be couture.

                Even still, Minhyuk can’t seem to look away.

                His new assistant is hunched over his desk, unfairly long legs tangled up underneath it, bent over a mock-up copy of this month’s edition. His fork is half-raised to his mouth, his tongue sticking out slightly from a too-wide mouth. Minhyuk’s face contorts into one of confusion and disgust at his poor manners.

                When Sanha flips the page, his hand shifts slightly, and the noodles on his fork fall down the front of his shirt. Minhyuk sighs, a single eyebrow shooting up to his hairline. The look of disgust lingered as Sanha picked the contents of his lunch off his front without bothering to lift his eyes from the page, but Minhyuk hated how his heart hammered a little louder in his ears, and how his stomach felt fluttery with all the butterflies inside.

 _Maybe I’m hungry_ , he thinks, standing with enough force to knock down the empty photo frame at the end of his desk.

                Sanha’s head snaps up over to him, peering in at him through the glass, but Minhyuk pretends not to notice, willing his cheeks not to flush at the attention. Yo-- _Sanha_ seemed to do that a lot, he’d noticed, from the short amount of time they had been in each others company. Sanha paid him far more attention than any other assistants he’d ever had, and yet the way in which he did it so _casually,_ lacking the refined professionalism Minhyuk usually sought after, made him feel a little breathless. He couldn’t understand why instead of feeling angry, annoyed, or even _disrespected_ , all he felt was...was _fondness._ And _endearment._

                Minhyuk cusses under his breath as he yanks the door to his office open, aware of Sanha’s eyes on him the entire time. He stops in front of his desk, ignoring the speck of food at the corner of his mouth, presses his lips together to stop himself smiling down at him.

                “I’m hungry.”

                Sanha’s back straightens up in his chair, eyes widening. “Oh!” He stands suddenly, scurrying away from his desk and over to the small kitchenette. Minhyuk draws his head back at his assistants sudden hyperactivity, trying his best to not to frown at the way he nearly trips over his own feet, and fixing his gaze on the ceiling tiles instead. He counts twelve before there’s something warm being pressed into his hand.

                “What?” The container in his hand matches that on Sanha’s desk. From what he can see through the opaque lid, it’s the same noodle dish as Sanha’s.

                His assistant shrugs, placing a set of cutlery across the lid. “I always make extra,” he says, bouncing back to his desk. Minhyuk watches, bewildered, as he plops down into the desk chair, proceeding to spin two full circles before stopping his movements to focus on the magazine again.

                “It’s good, I promise,” he adds, and Minhyuk’s attention briefly flickers down from his pink cheeks to the brown stain on his cream sweater.

                Minhyuk then looks down at the container in his hand. “You made it?”

                Sanha nods. “Sure did, Minhyuk! That’s Nana Yoon’s recipe!”

                Minhyuk doesn’t really know what to do with any of this information, so he opts for lifting the container closer to his face. “I mean,” Sanha’s voice comes, wavering a little, less elated than before. Minhyuk glances at him surreptitiously from overtop the tupperware. “I can go get you something? It’ll take a while, though.” He gestures to the clock on the opposite wall, Minhyuk follows the movement once pace behind him.

                He was right; at twelve noon, the lunch crowd would be at its peak, and he’d have to wait nearly an hour to eat. He could get something from the work canteen, but he downright refuses to eat there anymore, having heard the horror stories passed back and forth across the office, and liking to elude some sense of class around his workers.

                “No, Sanha,” he says, clearing his throat. “This is fine.” He turns on his heel, heading back into his office.

                When he goes to close the door, he hesitates. “Sanha?”

                Sanha looks up from the magazine, smile big and white and dazzling. Minhyuk chest clenches a little. “Yes?”

                Minhyuk forces himself to smile, even if it was just a slight tug upwards at the corner of his lips. “Thank you.”

                Sanha giggles - _giggles_ \- and bites his bottom lip. “You’re welcome, Minhyuk! I hope you like it!”

                Minhyuk makes sure Sanha isn’t watching him when he takes a mouthful of the noodles, hopes the groan he lets out can’t be heard through the glass, either - because, _Christ_ , Sanha might not know anything about fashion or using cutlery correctly or how a magazine actually _works_ , but he _did_ know how to cook.

 

                Sanha was having a bad day. Minhyuk for the life him can’t fathom _why_ , but he supposes it has something to do with the way his legs were disproportionately long compared to the rest of his body. This, combined with the way he bounced around the office in general, was a sure way for things to end in disaster.

                That much was obvious when Sanha walked into his office on the morning of his third day working for him, with his head hanging between his shoulders in utter defeat. In his hands was a crumpled looking sheet of paper, one that had most definitely lost a fight the printer, and had red and black ink smeared haphazardly across the back.

                Minhyuk takes a long, _long_ sip of his coffee, wishing it were something a bit stronger, and downing just about half of it by the time Sanha speaks.

                “I think…” he trails off, scratching the back of his head with a fingernail. “I think the printer broke.”

                Minhyuk sets the cup down. “Tell me, Yoon Sanha,” he starts, hands folding in his lap. “Did the printer break by itself, or did _you_ just so happen to, oh, I don’t know, _break_ it?”

                He watches Sanha visibly gulp, the look of defeat surging back up and out of the woodwork. Just when Minhyuk thinks he’s about to protest, or worse, _cry,_ he stands from his desk.

                “No worries,” he says, holding a hand out in front of him. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a printer. Go see Dongmin and ask to use his instead, alright? Give our tech guys a call on your way down.”

                Sanha nods, giving him a military salute that is definitely incorrect, but Minhyuk doesn’t have the heart to correct him. Just as he slips through the office door, Minhyuk calls back to him. “Sanha?” Sanha turns, nods once, eyes wide in anticipation. “Next time, just _ask_ if you’re unsure.”

                Minhyuk turns his back to his assistant, hiding his small smile as he half-stumbles out the door towards the elevator. Even from within his office he can hear Sanha’s loud, high-pitched voice chatting down the phone. Minhyuk scowls up at the ceiling vents, cursing whoever had changed the AC again, making his cheeks red and and his palms sweat.

 

                Things didn’t end there.

                Sanha enters his office with a notebook in hand, a pink gel pen shoved behind his ear. Minhyuk narrows his eyes at it.  “You have a meeting in five,” his assistant says, fingers dancing along the cover of the notebook.

                Minhyuk nods once, curtly, eyes shifting down across Sanha’s body, his torso wrapped up in that _god_ awful jacket, his long legs inside a pair of black ill-fitting trouser, and on his feet--

                “Is that whipped cream on your shoe?”

                Sanha looks down, though judging by his red cheeks, he’s well aware of what Minhyuk is talking about. “Ah,” he says. “Yes, it is.”

                Minhyuk goes to speak, but decides against it, feels his mouth opening and closing in utter dismay. He rises from his desk and leaves his office without a word, and as he walks, he hears Sanha yell out to him,

                “These things happen y’know, Minhyuk!” A few workers at their desk turn and stare at the interaction, gauging his reaction, but Minhyuk keeps his eyes trained forward, knuckles turning white from the grip on the mock up.

 

                Minhyuk wouldn’t call himself bitter, though he will admit that he’s somewhat of a perfectionist. He likes things clean and minimal and well thought-out; likes the way _simple_ , when done right, can make just as much as a statement as _bold_ can. Minhyuk likes order and refinery and rules - that doesn’t make him _bitter_ , that just makes him _smart._

                Thus, being the perfectionist he is, he can’t stop the way the corner of his mouth tugs up when he hears the loud commotion outside. It’s around the corner, just out of sight of his office, so he tries refocusing on the article in front of him. There’s no use, though, because the boisterous laughter has him yanking open his office door within minutes.

                When he rounds the corner, he sees a semi-circle of people crowded around a red-cheeked Sanha, trolley half jammed in the elevator, the majority of its contents spilled across the floor. His coworkers are laughing, though Sanha himself looks far from amused.

                Torn between annoyance and enamour, Minhyuk intentionally lets out a sigh loud enough for the small crowd to hear. The moment they do, they scatter, leaving Sanha surrounded by a mess of loose photographs and rolls of fabric samples. Minhyuk wants to cry when he sees the expensive rolls of Italian cotton on the tiles, because this boy is going to drive him _crazy_ , he’s sure of it.

                Sanha’s gnawing his bottom lip between his teeth, refusing to meet his eyes when MInhyuk sighs again. “Clean this mess up, then take a break.” He’s turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway before Sanha can say anything back.

 

                “Moon Bin.”

                The man straightens his back at his workbench. “Mr Park. Hi.” He pushes himself into an upright position, and Minhyuk only barely manages to hide his smirk when he sees the man hurriedly close his personal laptop. “I didn’t know you were coming to see me.”

                Minhyuk shrugs. “It wasn’t planned.”

                “Right, well.” Bin claps his hands together awkwardly, eyes scanning the room self consciously. Minhyuk notices how Bin’s eyes linger on the wilting bouquet of flowers in the corner, on the overflowing waste bin by the door, on the smudges of biro on the mirror. “Welcome,” he says, hands fanning out around him.

                Minhyuk narrows his eyes at him. “You need to get rid of Yoon Sanha.”

                Bin’s expression doesn’t change - his eyebrows stay perked up and his eyes are still wide and nervous. It’s as if he hadn’t heard him speak. “I’m sorry. _What_?” He tilts his head forward, ear-first.

                “You need to get rid of Yoon Sanha,” he repeats, voice laced with impatience.

                Bin recoils as though he’d been slapped. “Already? _Yeesh_ ,” he says, sinking back down onto his stool. “Normally you give them at least a week before giving them the boot. Is he really that bad?”

                “He spilt barbeque sauce on the mockup.”

                Bin shrugs, “it’s just the mockup.”

                Minhyuk’s lips tug in irritation. “He dropped three boxes of fast tracked confidential photographs and two rolls of Italian cotton.”

                The look on Bin’s face says it all. “It was an accident, Mr Park.” Minhyuk goes to speak, but Bin is standing up again, walking a little closer to him as he speaks. “Give the boy a chance, yeah? He’s young, _yes_ ; inexperienced, _absolutely._ But that’s what gives him character, you know? He isn’t here because he wants to work with _you_ , or because he cares about the models downstairs, or even because he might even get some free clothes out of it. He’s here because he _needs_ the job, Mr Park. Surely you remember what that feels like.”

                Minhyuk wants to retort; yell something back, voice aggressive, put Bin back in his place, but the sad truth is that Bin was _right._ Minhyuk hadn’t always been so well-off and fortunate, had known what it was like to struggle financially, knew that Sanha must be facing that to some extent, too. He was in no position to judge, he knew that, but _still. Yoon Sanha._

                “Can you at least, I don’t know...teach him how to use the printer, or something? Give him a key to the maintenance elevator so he has more space?”

                The elder man lets out a rush of amused air from his nose, but nods. “Of course, Mr Park. I’ll get to it right away.”

                Minhyuk scowls, “I need those designs in first, though, Moon Bin.”

                “Of _course_ , Mr Park,” Bin repeats himself, smiling around his words. “I’ll get to it right away.”

                When Minhyuk gets back to his office, the sun is already starting to set outside, and most of the office has emptied for the day. Sanha is at his desk when he saunters past, and Minhyuk tries not to focus on his defeated expression for too long. He wraps his scarf around his neck, slips his arms through his coat, and snatches his satchel from beside his desk before shutting down his laptop and switching off the lamp.

                Through the dim light that remains within the office, Minhyuk can make out Sanha’s watery glare at his own computer, fingers smashing against the keyboard. Minhyuk knew that expression, had seen in on many assistants before, on other workers, on his _own_ face once or twice; knew that it was a look that hurt after a while, because suppressing tears for that amount of time takes its toll.

                Sanha had had, without a doubt, _a bad day,_ and for a reason unbeknownst to him, Minhyuk takes pity.

                “Sanha?”

                His head snaps up, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar in shock, fingers frozen on the keyboard. “O-oh. Good evening, Minhyuk.”

                Minhyuk lets the name slide just this once. “All done for the day. You can head home now.”

                Sanha nods once, a jerky movement that looks much too forced. His mood was nowhere near as perky as usual, and it bothered Minhyuk more than it should.

                Minhyuk hovers by the elevator for Sanha, who looks surprised to see him waiting. The colour is returning to his cheeks, though, he notices, because as he steps in beside him they’re flushed a delicate shade of pink, much like a spring rose, or of strawberry milk. Beside him, standing this close, Minhyuk can catch the faintest traces of aftershave, one he can’t quite put a name to, but it’s both sweet and musky and he finds himself drawn into it.

                The elevator ride is silent the entire way, but Minhyuk doesn’t find it awkward, though he does admit it feels out of character for Sanha.

                He’s only known him _three days,_ but already, Sanha has gotten under his skin. He’s a headache he can’t quite shake, an itch he can’t quite scratch; like he’s known him his whole life. It’s irritating, and Minhyuk wants the feeling _gone_ , but he thinks back to Moon Bin’s earlier comments, and swallows down his pride in one rough gulp.

                Outside, Minhyuk heads towards the car waiting for him, noticing Sanha trailing off in the other direction, no doubt towards the train station. Minhyuk hadn’t taken the train since his internship days, but he knew enough about them to know that this late at night they were both crammed packed with shift workers and creeps who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

                In another moment of pity, or perhaps even the same one, Minhyuk calls out to him. “Yoon Sanha!”

                Sanha stops where he was walking, hands shoved deep into the pockets of that jacket of his. “Yes, Minhyuk?”

                Minhyuk scowls, though it’s forced. “ _Mr Park_ ,” he says, emphasising with a jab to the chest with his index finger. Sanha smiles, though it barely reaches his eyes. He sighs. “So, you had a bad day. You know the best thing about bad days?”

                Sanha shrugs, “what?”

                Minhyuk smiles, genuine this time, hands deep in his own pockets against the evening chill. “You get to go home and pig out on food you’re not allowed to eat, and then when you wake up the next morning, you get to start anew. You get to make yourself a good day.”

                Sanha huffs, but his smile looks more alive now, the flame in his eyes catching fire once again. “Thanks, Minhyuk.”

                He goes to turn back to make his way home, but Minhyuk stops him once more. “C’mon, I’ll get the driver to drop you home.”

                Sanha hesitates, “n-no! It’s fine, I always take the train.”

                Minhyuk walks towards him, ignores the buzzing feeling in his head and under his skin when he wraps his hand around Sanha’s elbow, tugging him towards the sleek mercedes parked at the curb. Sanha protests the entire way, stumbling a little after Minhyuk’s assertive steps.

                When the driver opens the door, Minhyuk indicates with his hand for Sanha to enter, a gentle little movement gesturing an _‘after you’_ to him. Sanha’s lip tugs down at the side. “Are you sure it isn’t a bother?”

                Minhyuk scowls. “You’re bothering me by not getting in the car, Sanha.”

                Sanha snickers, but climbs inside, Minhyuk following after him. This close together in the small confined space, Sanha’s cologne seems stronger, his presence larger.  The Sanha Minhyuk had grown familiar with the past few days coming back into light as the driver weaves through the city streets, easing its way to an apartment block caught somewhere between ‘ _not too bad_ ’ and ‘ _is the roof falling off_?’

                When Sanha goes to exit the car, he turns back, hand hesitating on the door handle. “Thank you, Minhyuk.”

                Minhyuk slams his head back against the leather chair. “It’s _Mr Park!_ ”

                Sanha snickers, “ha, yeah, _okay_. See you tomorrow, Minhyuk!” And then he slams the door behind himself, and Minhyuk doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

                Maybe both.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes hello, i cannot believe me, katie, a simple fic writer, gets to collab with the one and only asha. like wow. what a real treat.
> 
> i hope u enjoyed this idk! let us know what u think so far! come say hello to me on tumblr @[softsocky](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)! ily


	3. Chapter 3

                Today was a busy day, Sanha realized as he walked into the office with Minhyuk’s iced americano. Almost no one was upstairs at the moment other that Moon Bin and another person who were looking over something at their computer, and Minhyuk who was organizing something in his office but looking ready to get moving. He wasn’t exactly kept up to date with the hectic schedule around the office, so he knocked on Minhyuk’s office and went in quietly, waiting to be acknowledged.

                Minhyuk was wearing white slacks and a green overcoat, paired with black dress shoes and socks. God, he looked _good_. Sanha looked down at his tan jeans and grandpa sweater and back up at Minhyuk with a smile. He liked what he wore, he wouldn’t change that, but he’d still appreciate how incredible Minhyuk looked every day. He cleared his throat when Minhyuk didn’t turn around, and when he acknowledged him he stuck the coffee out.

                “Good morning, Minhyuk!” Despite there being no smile on his face, Sanha did find his eyes light up in a similar way.

                “Sanha.” It was a breathless way that he said it, and he grabbed the coffee from him and replaced it with a stack of photos. Before Sanha could say anything else, he was pulled by his wrist out the door and led him to the shoot downstairs. Sanha quickly picked up on how chaotic it was when he got so roughly shoved and was pulled in by Minhyuk as he glared at the employee passing by.

                There was a shoot going on tonight, one of the main two that would be featured in this month’s magazine, and the other one was going to be onsite. This meant that they were going to shooting at a specific location, such as something like a beach or the forest. Currently, the main team was shooting at a house in Daegu, and the manager had left Minhyuk in charge of the smaller one they were doing in the studio. Lee Dongmin had left to do the onsite shoot, leaving the secondary makeup artists with a high-profile photographer.

                It was almost scary to watch Minhyuk change into _Deimos_ as Bin had called him before, walking around the shoot with hawk-like eyes. Anything out of order, be it just a light a few centimeters off of where it should be or a scarf that was tied loosely was putting Minhyuk on edge, and Sanha was feeling anxious as well because of it. Minhyuk’s jaw was tight as he pulled employees off set to tell them to do things differently, and it got to a point where Sanha went to comfort him but he raised his voice, “We shoot when I say we shoot. If you don’t want to put your full effort into this, you can walk out now.” He saw it then, a glimpse of what the other people had seen in Minhyuk that made everyone dislike him. It still didn’t change how he felt about him, but he still found himself scared for a split second. Minhyuk turned around and looked at him and his expression changed to something softer before letting out a sigh.

                The photographer had arrived a few minutes later, a real hotshot that instantly took over the shoot once he got situated and began directing the models before they had gotten into the right clothing, which was being prepared in the room over. “Sanha, go tell them that we need the clothes right now.”

                Sanha nodded and quickly weaved through all the people with a lot of determination. He liked when Minhyuk gave him little tasks to do, even if most of the time they weren’t very difficult, just because he liked feeling important to him. He knew that he didn’t bring a lot to the board, but he felt good when Minhyuk would smile (internally, he had yet to catch him smile outwardly). He found three employees, a man and to women, sitting around a table that had the designer’s clothes spread on it. They were lounging so carelessly that Sanha couldn’t help but physically _huff_ at the sight. It was clear that they needed to be taking care of this and fast, especially since there was limited time to work with such a skilled photographer. He cleared his throat to announce he was in the room, and with that came a spiral of unfortunate events.

                When the woman on the right looked up, she stood up quickly, which in turn ended up pushing the man’s chair in, which tugged at the table cloth and led to the other woman’s coffee spilling. Except, the spill spread so quickly and was met with the white fabric of the outfit that had been prepared for the shoot. Sanha gasped, and the other three employees looked at each other with wide eyes before looking back at Sanha. He felt a rush of anxiety, wondering what he was going to tell Minhyuk. It was clear this was a very important outfit, and to have it ruined like that made him terrified. His eyes darted between the employees and rested on the stain that was spreading across the garment with fear.

                “Why did you startle us like that? Are you an idiot?” His fear spread to his hands, causing him to shake. “Clearly you saw we weren’t paying attention, you should have knocked.”

                “I…I didn’t know it was going to surprise you that badly.” His eyes were still looking back and forth so frantically, almost as if to try and rewind what he just saw.

                “Well now what are we going to do? Have it cleaned when we need to shoot in ten?” The man spoke up, giving Sanha a look that made him feel gross in the stomach.

                “And what are you going to tell Minhyuk, when you’re a new assistant? Everyone knows he doesn’t keep assistants long.”

                “Clearly not with that outfit either, let’s be honest-”

                “ _What the hell do you think you’re doing?_ ”

                The room went dead silent, and with the door swung open it was clear to tell that the other room was silent as well, save for a few shots being taken as a prep for the shoot. Sanha’s hands were still shaky, and to hear Minhyuk come in like that was making his heart beat a lot faster than he expected. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn around as Minhyuk walked past him and grabbed the pants with a rage that was unmatched by anything he had seen before. Sanha was worried to see him turn around, making direct eye contact with Sanha. Was he angry with him? If he was Minhyuk, he would have fired him by now. However, he turned back and pointed at each of the employees.

                “Each of you, get your things and leave the office immediately. You’ve been dismissed.”

                “What? We didn’t mean to-”

                “If you cared about this job, you’d know that you should _never_ keep a liquid or food item around the clothing we have.” Minhyuk bundled the pants in his hands and threw them on the ground angrily, pointing at the door and watching them shamefully walk out of the office. He moved his finger to another employee and gestured. “Go and make sure that they’re leaving. Take their ID cards as well.”

***

                Maybe Minhyuk was scary, but Sanha felt a little more comforted by him as he watched the employees shoot him a glare and walk out. An awkward hand met his back and had Sanha turn around to see Minhyuk behind him. “Oh, hi.”

                “What happened back there wasn’t your fault. And also, you’re not going to get fired any time soon. I like-” Sanha could see him stutter before collecting himself. “I like working with you.”

                Despite it looking so forced, Sanha’s heart still felt how sincere it was, and he couldn’t help but break into a smile when he heard it. “I love working with you, Minhyuk! I think you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, too. I like you a lot.”

                If he wasn’t so close to his face, he wondered if he wouldn’t have noticed the faint flush on his cheeks. He had a feeling it had to do with Minhyuk just not being used to someone saying that, but a tiny part of him wondered if he had made him flustered. It appeared that way since he had removed his hand from his back and made his way back into his office rather quickly. Sanha followed behind and closed the door behind him, sitting across from him and staring awkwardly.

                “Did the shoot still go well?” Sanha had been sent back upstairs when the other employees had left, and it seemed like he had managed well. Sanha trusted Minhyuk a lot, he trusted his expertise and felt like anything he did would work out in the end.

                “We just avoided the pants. There was a backup pair of shorts that had been chosen not to be used, but since we didn’t have much of a choice we used them instead.” Of course they had planned something in case of a fashion emergency. He was impressed yet again.

                “Did the photographer like the set?” Sanha leaned closer and rested his head in his hands, watching Minhyuk type away as he glanced between his screen and the photos spread in front of him. “He seemed really important.”

                “Yeah, he’s worked with us a few times before.” A few moments of silence made Sanha sit back up and let his eyes wander. The shoot had eaten up most of the day, and he wondered what else Minhyuk was going to do to finish the day off. “What are you doing later today?”

                He felt taken aback by the question. Minhyuk hadn’t seemed very interested in Sanha’s personal life (rightfully so, perhaps), and asking what his plans were today made him curious as to what inspired him to ask. “I’m going to dinner with my brother tonight. My parents are out to Jeju this weekend so we’re home alone.”

                “Do you want to go home early?” Sanha blinked a few times, unsure if Minhyuk was being serious.

                “Don’t you have a lot to do today? I don’t wanna leave if you still need help, Minhyuk.” He waved his hand away and Sanha got up quickly before he could change his mind, saluting him with a grin. “Thank you, Minhyuk! You’re very admirable and I like you a lot!”

“W…wait. Here, here’s my number, just in case you need it for something later on.” Minhyuk held out his phone for Sanha to put his contact in, and took his as well. Sanha felt nervous when they brushed hands, but he returned the phone with a smile. He hurried out the door but stopped to turn around and bow at him quickly.

***

                The restaurant was bustling when Sanha arrived, a few large tables scattered around the room with grills in the middle, meat sizzling and giving off beautiful smells that hit him as he made his way to his brother. Jinwoo smiled when he sat down, removing his coat and looking over the food with wide eyes. He cut up a bit for him and wrapped in lettuce and popping it in his mouth. Jinwoo had a job as well, and it normally went a lot later, but he had managed to get out earlier too.

                “Hey kiddo.” Jinwoo flipped the meat over and put some on Sanha’s plate as he settled in. “How was work today? Is that boss of yours treating you well?”

                “Yes! He always treats me well.” He chewed thoughtfully, taking some more and putting the hot pepper on top generously. He had a close relationship with his brother; they talked about everything since they were a lot younger. He was a good four years older than him, and despite the age gap they didn’t feel any differences. It was nice to have someone to give him advice, and Jinwoo was always there to comfort him no matter what. “It was a tough day today, though. There were some mean people at work. It makes me feel strange to see people like that still dislike Minhyuk.”

                Jinwoo frowned a bit. Sanha knew that he was beginning to doubt his new job lately, but Sanha understood it was just because he was protective of him. “It seems like it’s a tough day a lot of the time. Are you sure you’re enjoying yourself?”

                “Of course I am! Minhyuk is the best! He’s basically an expert on all things fashionable. Everything he wears looks like it’s totally off a runway.” Sanha opened his mouth and Jinwoo fed him again. “He’s so pretty, too. His eyes are so shiny, Jinwoo, you wouldn’t believe he wasn’t wearing contact lenses.”

                “Contacts?” Jinwoo grinned. “You speak really fondly of someone who is called the god of fear, you know.”

                Sanha puffed his chest out dramatically. Even if everyone was a little scared of Minhyuk, and he did admit he was for a moment there too, he still thought of him as a good soft man no matter what. And even if he had been scary today, he had readily come to the rescue when those people tried to blame him. Sanha was ready to step up and confess it was his fault, too, if Minhyuk hadn’t come and saved him then. His respect towards him had grown bigger – if that was even possible at this point. “Of course I do! He’s incredible!”

                Their conversation slowly drowned out after Jinwoo let out a warm laugh, slowly swirling into the searing from the grill. As much as he did love his job, it felt nice to be away from that chaos and to just relax with his brother for a bit. Still, he couldn’t help but glance at his phone a few times as if he expected Minhyuk to _actually_ text him. It was a silly thing to expect since he had now joined the same contact list as people that worked at Versace in Italy, but he still had a tiny glimmer of hope that made him wish maybe he would still shoot him a text. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to receive even, maybe just something like _head home now_ or _how is your dinner going?_ But then Sanha remembered that they weren’t as close as he would like them to be – not yet at least.

                After they had finished eating, Sanha and Jinwoo made their way down the street to the nearest convenience store. It was tradition from when they were younger to buy an ice cream after they went out to eat. Even after they would eat lunch, they would always get something cold and chocolatey with Jinwoo’s pocket money.

                This time, the store was a bit further from their house and Sanha hadn’t gone to it before. The aisles were tightly packed together, but it felt so hectic inside that Sanha was overwhelmed by the selection. He had gathered the ice cream that he wanted as well as some ramyun he was going to convince his older brother to buy him, but he found himself with an armful of food and no brother in sight. He wasn’t sure how he managed to lose Jinwoo so quickly or in such a small space, but he wandered in circles before whining loudly. If he didn’t react to that, there was no way that Jinwoo was inside this store. He sent a text to Jinwoo but hadn’t even gotten a read receipt, which made him more nervous. There on his contact list was Park Minhyuk though, and the temptation to message him overcame him when he pressed _call_. He’d regret this, but later, so he shuffled the food around in his arms before he could comfortably call.

                The phone rang a few times before Minhyuk picked up on the other side. It was still silent for a few seconds before his boss spoke. “Hello?”

                “Hi, Minhyuk. Sorry for calling so suddenly, but I think I lost my brother in this store and I’m confused and I don’t know what to do.”

                “I…what?”

                “I know it sounds, like, really dumb and all. I’m so tall too, and Jinwoo is so tiny, but I just can’t seem to find him. I can’t even just go home either because I’m really craving the ice cream he’s supposed to buy me.”

                “You’re…Sanha, it’s ten in the evening, do you realize this? Most people would be sleeping you know, you’re lucky you caught me getting home.”

                “I know it’s late to eat dessert but I’m just still hungry after eating the pork with-”

                “Sanha, _please_.” Sanha quieted down with a pensive expression on his face. “Where’s the last time you saw-”

                “Oh!” Sanha saw Jinwoo’s head bob out of an aisle and go to the cash register. “I found him, he didn’t leave the store after all! Good night Minhyuk, thanks for helping me!”

                “I wouldn’t say that I really helped you much.” Before Minhyuk could say something else, Sanha hung up and bounced over to his brother with his armful of food and a wide smile.

                “Who were you on the phone with?” The cashier swiped the food and Jinwoo handed her the card. Sanha shyly mumbled Minhyuk as he was handed his ice cream, making his way down the street with his brother. The realization that he had just called his boss to admit he lost his brother in the store hit him slowly, and halfway through the walk home he found himself stopping in the middle of the sidewalk.

                His cheeks flushed a bit, and he took another bite out of his ice cream and sped up to meet him. He had a feeling it was almost dangerous to have Minhyuk’s number so readily available to him, and his phone was held a bit closer to his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. im screaming. HAPPY ROCKY DAY YALL, I HOPE UR ENJOYING THIS IMPORTANT DAY WITH ALL UR LOVED ONES, WE LOVE INTERNATIONAL HOLIDAYS  
> just a quick reminder that sanha rly calls him rock-hyung irl. not rocky but.....rock. incredible  
> hit me (up) @[jingrapher](http://jingrapher.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

                Myungjun – head of wardrobe – joined  _ Sat;n _ the same week Minhyuk had been promoted to Editor-in-Chief, and although their opinions often clashed, they had, to some extent, been able to maintain a mutually beneficial partnership. It wasn’t so much a  _ friendship _ as it was a  _ cooperative working relationship,  _ wherein Myungjun provided him with on-trend garments to choose from, and Minhyuk allowing him to keep his job, so that at the end of the month they could both print their names proudly in the latest edition.

                Therefore, the conflict they faced was strictly professional. 

                Minhyuk, though he would rarely admit it, liked Myungjun just  _ fine _ \- albeit having a laugh a few octaves too high, and his speaking voice louder  _ still _ \- but his fashion choices were sometimes more questionable than Sanha’s. It wasn’t his fault, per se; given that Myungjun had only what designers put out to work with, but after working for Sat;n for as long as he had now, Minhyuk just couldn’t understand  _ why _ it was such a difficult decision for him to make.

                The choice, to Minhyuk, was anything  _ but _ difficult, yet Myungjun was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth the way he does when he’s deep in thought, contemplating the two options in front of them. It should have been  _ simple,  _ because truthfully, they weren’t that different. Two photographs were pinned to the display board in his office of two models both wearing the exact same pair of corduroy shorts and the same sheer, navy blue blouse. The  _ same _ satchel was in the photo, tangled with the legs of the stool on which the models sat, wearing the  _ same _ wristwatch and the  _ same _ pair of sunglasses perched on top of their heads. The only difference was that one of them was a male model, and the other female. 

                Minhyuk knew which he preferred straight away. Myungjun, it seemed, did not. 

                “I just...I think they’re both  _ perfect _ .” His voice is distant, airy.

                Minhyuk just scowls at him. “You’re being ridiculous, Mr Kim. You need to pick one.”

                Myungjun scoffed, folding his arms in front of himself, eyes fluttering across the space between them with judgement. “We both know that I’m not going to pick the right one. I never do.”

                Minhyuk shrugs, “that might be the case, but need I remind you what your job title is here at Sat;n?” Rolling his eyes, Myungjun turns away from him, muttering a curse under his breath that Minhyuk doesn’t miss. 

                “If you would put aside any problems you have with  _ me _ , Mr Kim, and return to your job responsibilities, please.” Minhyuk knows his tone comes across as harsher than he had intended, but makes no effort to correct himself as he indicates to the two options with a  wave of his hand. Myungjun has seen it all before with him, anyway, given the close proximity in which they work. 

                With a huff, the stylist throws his hand out in the direction to the left, a manicured nail just scraping along the photograph of the female model. Minhyuk frowns, watching Myungjun’s hand drop back to his side, before turning to face him again. “Did I appease the master?” 

                Myungjun catches his tongue-in-cheek expression, the twitch in his hand, and takes a step backward. “Apologies, Mr Park. That was uncalled for.” Internally, Minhyuk scoffs, glad that he remembers that Minhyuk  _ is _ more bite than he is bark. “What choice do  _ you _ prefer?” 

                Minhyuk hums, eyes drifting between the two, before he’s turning on his heel and glancing over his shoulder. Admittedly, it was something he found himself doing more often than not these days. Never before had he felt himself so  _ attached _ to a coworker before, let alone an  _ assistant.  _

                All the assistants he’d ever had before Sanha were very much by-the-books, got their jobs done with their heads down, noses in their notebooks and speaking only when spoken to. It wasn’t  _ his _ instructions, but rather something they had picked up on along the way, having heard about Minhyuk’s reputation. He tried his best not to involve himself in workplace gossip and scandal, but he was no idiot. He knew of the nickname they used for him here,  _ Deimos,  _ knew that they actually meant it seriously, with no lightheartedness behind it; knew that, to some extent, it was relatively  _ true. _

                He was a professional, liking a clear distinction between  _ work  _ and  _ play _ , and detesting when people think it wise to merge the two. This, sometimes, put him in a position wherein his power and status made him seem cold-hearted and brutal, his words too far this side of cruel to be considered authoritative any longer. But, just like everyone, words  _ stung _ sometimes, and no matter how hard he tried to fight against the namesake, he was a slave to his natural instincts. Changing himself to appease others wasn’t in his DNA; wasn’t something he found himself doing for just anyone. When the day was through and he went home to his beige-walled and grey-carpeted apartment, the words would often eat him alive; and his remedy, a tumbler of whisky, 30 years-old and now three-quarters empty, would burn his throat more than any words or god of terror could. 

                It was strange, though, Minhyuk thought, that the moment his eyes settle on Sanha across the glass of his office, that he was reminded of  _ why _ he came back every morning. The boy was, without a doubt, one of the strangest people he’d ever encountered.  _ Strange _ , because instead of  _ smelling _ like fear and  _ oozing _ fear, he was nothing but accommodating and warm, and his smile was so nauseatingly sweet that Minhyuk sometimes craved a fruity cocktail more than the comfort of his Scotch. 

                His nose was red and cheeks pink, eyes focused on his computer screen, phone nestled between his ear and shoulder as he typed. He can hear him laugh at something down the receiver, exposing his pearly white teeth, the squint of his eyes as his shoulders shake in amusement. Happiness looked  _ good  _ on Sanha. It made him brighter, somehow, like he was incomplete without it. If Minhyuk himself were to ever walk through the office with a smile even a fraction as dazzling as his assistants, he’d project more terror onto his workers than ever before. Smiling was rare for him, especially after so many years of his temper and tone building a reputation against him. 

                The idea which had been formulating in his head fizzles away into dust when he hears Sanha bid farewell to whoever was on the phone, hanging up, and throwing a glance his way. Their eyes meet through the glass, and Sanha’s smile only enlarges, stretching across the entirety of his face, eyebrows lifting in time with the hand he flaps in his direction. Unable to deny Sanha of this, Minhyuk lets the corners of his mouth tug upward just the tiniest bit. Sanha, seemingly satisfied, turns his attention back to the computer. 

                “ _ Ah. _ That must be the renowned  _ Yoon Sanha. _ ”

                Minhyuk’s head snaps back to Myungjun. “Excuse me?” After the debacle last week, Minhyuk didn’t want to hear anyone else slandering his assistant in front of him, and would gladly take measures to ensure it. 

                Myungjun shrugs. “Word on the street is  _ you _ have a little bit of a soft spot for him.” Minhyuk shifts awkwardly on his feet, moving his eyes to the floor. “Or a  _ big _ soft spot.  _ Christ,  _ could your cheeks  _ be  _ any redder?”

                Minhyuk grunts. “Watch your mouth, Mr Kim, or I’ll see you to paperwork for the rest of the month.”

                The stylist holds his hands up defensively, taking a step backwards. “I mean no harm, Mr Park. It’s nice.” 

                Minhyuk feels dry mouthed, hating this conversation, hating how Myungjun is trying to be personable again. “ _ Nice _ ?”

                Myungjun snorts, sinking down onto the chair in the corner. “Yeah, it’s  _ nice.  _ Nice seeing you care for him like that.”

                Minhyuk raises a finger, ready to retort, but Myungjun is speaking overtop of him. “Word gets around, you know. We’ve all heard about the little incident last week. Believe  _ me _ , Mr Park, I  _ knew _ those girls weren’t up to much good the day they stepped on the scene, so I support you on that matter,” he says, one hand on his heart, the other sprawled out in front of him in his direction. “It’s _ nice  _ because we’ve never seen that before.”

                “It’s nice knowing that I’m not afraid to get rid of your coworkers?”

                “No,” he clarifies, kicking his ankle over his thigh. “It’s nice because we get to see you actually  _ care  _ for  _ your _ employees.” 

                He feels himself flush again, turning away from him and eyes finding Sanha’s already peering in at him. Minhyuk’s earlier plan situates itself in his mind again, and he makes a come-hither motion with his finger. He watches as Sanha scrambles from his desk chair -  _ who  _ sits cross-legged on a  _ desk chair? _ \- and stumbles into his office, wide-eyed.

                “Hi Minhyuk!” He greets, voice eager. His eyes settle on Myungjun in the corner, who’s smiling between the two of them knowingly.

                Minhyuk narrows his eyes at him in suspicion, before gesturing to where he’s seated. “I don’t think you two have met. Sanha, this is Mr Kim, head of our wardrobe department. Mr Kim,” he says, hand moving to his assistant. “This is Sanha, my new assistant.”   
Sanha quickly bows, hair flapping at the rushed movement, and Minhyuk bites back a smile. “Lovely to meet you, Mr Kim!” He steps forward to shake his hand when Myungjun stands. 

                “Please, Sanha. Everyone calls me MJ.” Myungjun smiles, before pursing his lips in his direction. “Well, except for your boss, of course. But, you know what he’s like. Set in his ways, and all.”

                Sanha giggles, and Minhyuk wants to die. His assistant turns to him, lips unfairly pink and still twisted upward. “Is there something I can help you with, Minhyuk?”

                Minhyuk sighs. “We need your advice.”

                Myungjun sputters, but quietens down when he throws him a look over Sanha’s shoulder. Sanha who, right this moment, appears to be having a meltdown. “M-me? You need  _ my  _ advice?” Minhyuk remains silent, and Myungjun shifts closer to the younger boy, watching the exchange curiously. “But I’m  _ useless _ .”

                Minhyuk turns sharply, pointing to the two photos on the wall. “Which one is better?”

                Sanha looks like he wants to protest, a look of guilt swamping his features, but he does as he’s told. His eyes settle on each photograph for an eerily long time, as though etching them into his mind, studying the almost-identical details of each one, contemplating much like Myungjun had. For some reason, the time it takes him to choose an option doesn’t bother him so much. Sanha, with a shaky hand, points to the image on the right, the male model. Unsure of why, but the choice makes Minhyuk’s body tingle, his throat dry.

                He smirks at the way Myungjun’s shoulders deflate. Sanha turns to him, bottom lip pulled into his mouth, eyes seeking affirmation. Minhyuk throws him a wink, before snatching the two photos off the board. “Thank you, Mr Kim. That’ll be all for today.”

                Myungjun takes the pictures with a shake of his head, muttering a good bye to both of them before departing his office. Minhyuk turns back to his desk, tidying up the loose paperwork, when he hears Sanha whine. 

                “Minhyuk?” He turns to face him, knows his eyes are soft, but can’t help it when his assistant looks like that. “You’re not actually going to run that picture just because I chose it, right? I mean, I don’t know what I’m talking about-”

                Minhyuk raises his hand to stop Sanha’s rambling. “I  _ asked  _ you because your opinion matters to me, Sanha. That’s the photo we’re going with because you see things differently, alright? You see things the way our readers see it. Besides,” he says with a shrug. “That was the one I preferred.”

                Sanha smiles, ducking his cheeks to hide the pink that lifts there at the praise. Minhyuk, suddenly sheepish, fiddles with the straw of his empty coffee. Sanha notices the movement, and snaps his head up. “I’ll get you another coffee, Minhyuk!”

                Minhyuk nods in thanks, but stops Sanha with a hand to his wrist. “And Sanha? Never let me hear you call yourself useless again.” Sanha blushes, but nods, before darting out of his office. 

***  
  


                Perhaps the gossip spreading around the magazine  _ was  _ true, because when he walks into his office one evening, meeting having run far later than usual, to find Sanha putting a plate of steaming hot food at his desk, he has the sudden desire to wrap his little assistant up in his arms and never let go. Sanha’s smiling, the one that reaches up to his eyes, makes his cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink. 

                Minhyuk swallows, stepping through the threshold. “Sanha,” he greets, dropping his bag on the floor. 

                “Minhyuk - come eat!” He steps away from his desk, coming around the front, behind him. Minhyuk eyes him warily, nearly jumping when Sanha’s hands rest on his shoulders, guiding him forwards. He stumbles along willingly, trying to ignore the warmth seeping through his coat where Sanha’s hands rest, grunting a little at how much taller the younger is than him. 

                Sanha practically pushes him into the chair, dainty hands passing him a set of cutlery and sliding a drink his way. “You need to eat more, Minhyuk. You worry me.” 

                Minhyuk hates how his heart sinks at the concern in Sanha’s voice. “I’m fine, Sanha.”

                Sanha cocks his head to the side, hand on hip. “I  _ know  _ you haven’t eaten at all today. Now, shut up, and eat the food I made you.” 

                Minhyuk sighs as Sanha retreats back to his desk, plopping down on his seat. Swallowing around a mouthful of rice - which was delicious, just as he expected - he frowns at the fact Sanha digs into his own plate of food without so much as a smile. Something inside of him lurches watching him eat alone, with the fully-empty office behind him, the darkness creeping up the side of his face, the other illuminated only by the light of Minhyuk’s office. He sets down his fork, eyebrows furrowing as he watches on. It’s a sad sight, and a confusing one. It’s  _ confusing _ , because the guilt that seeps into his pores and twists in his stomach is something he’s unfamiliar with, something he decides he hates instantly.

                In a moment of confidence, Minhyuk opens his phone, starts a new text conversation with his assistant, pressing send on his message before he can second guess it.

_                 Come eat with me. _

                He sees the moment Sanha receives it, because it lights up his desk, makes his eyes twinkle when he looks down at it. His expression was blank for a moment, the gears working in his head, until his head snaps up. Their eyes meet, Sanha red-cheeked even in the darkness, and teeth just as white. He’s standing up immediately, bringing his plate with him, and pushing through his office with a clatter.

                Minhyuk watches on fondly as Sanha situates himself at the desk opposite him, dragging the chair up from the wall so he can sit. Minhyuk chews slowly, savouring the delicious food, as Sanha rambles. Occasionally, he holds his phone up to show him a video or photo he finds funny, and normally Minhyuk would be repulsed by Sanha’s eating habits, but now he just finds it endearing. He wants to scowl or complain or reach over and close Sanha’s mouth as he chews, but finds he can’t.

                There’s barely a lapse in Sanha’s rambling when he’s firing a question his way. “Minhyuk, can you cook?” Minhyuk just manages to shake his head before Sanha is speaking all over again. “My Nana taught me, she’s  _ amazing.  _ Best cook I know!” 

                Minhyuk hides his smile as Sanha rants on, finishing off his own food, ignoring the specks Sanha flings around his office as he waves his fork around. Somewhere amidst the flurry of words, he hears Sanha say “she’d  _ love  _ you, Minhyuk. I’ll have to introduce you two,” before he’s jumping to another topic altogether.

                It stays with him though, that suggestion, because even if Sanha had meant it only in passing, no one had ever made such an offer to him before. No one had ever wanted Minhyuk to meet their family.

***  
  


                That night, lying in bed, Minhyuk thought about hesitancy. Rather,  _ Sanha’s _ hesitancy. The way Sanha hovers around the edges as though the page were ready to turn over without him, like he was merely an add-on, and not a necessity. The way he thinks he’s disposable, as though Minhyuk were ready to get rid of him at any moment - as though he  _ weren’t _ someone Minhyuk liked having around. 

                He rolls over, cursing the boys name, because whenever he closes his eyes he thinks of his  _ dumb  _ smile and his  _ dumb  _ hair and the  _ dumb  _ way he’s making him feel. It shouldn’t be like this, he thinks. It’s his assistant, his  _ worker _ , so what’s this god-awful feeling he’s got in his stomach when he thinks about him? Why does it, strangely, make him feel weightless, like he’s soaring rather than drowning, the way he’s always felt? 

                With a groan, he lies on his back, stares up at the ceiling before yanking his phone from underneath the pillow beside him. The light burns his eyes for a moment as he types away in the search bar, unable to contain the flutter of excitement in his fingertips. 

                It surges on for the rest of the sleepless night, too, and into the morning, when he tells the driver they’re making a detour on their way to the office. The excitement doesn’t fizzle or pop or fade as he bounces on the tips of his toes, in fact it only escalates, as he waits for Sanha to round the corner. When he does, Minhyuk smiles in greeting, startling the intern in the room who was placing a stack of binders on his desk. Sanha smiles just a bright back, handing him his coffee with a tiny bow, before turning to his desk.

                Minhyuk sees it, catches that very moment Sanha notices. Notices the way that even from behind, Minhyuk can tell his lip is quivering, can tell that the boy’s hands are shaking as he stretches them out in front of him. The tiny steps he takes are made with anticipation, and hesitation - but this time, a different kind.  _ This time _ , Sanha isn’t hesitant because he thinks anything he does will get him in trouble, but instead,  _ hesitant _ because he can’t believe this is real.

                Minhyuk grins into his coffee, diverting his eyes when he hears Sanha squeal. Out the corner of his eye, he watches him jump up and down as he claps, hands moving to brush across the chrome plaque Minhyuk had made for the top of his desk.

_                 Yoon Sanha: Assistant to Park Minhyuk.  _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello radiant sunbeams!! katie, me, is back with another minhyuk chapter! i hope you liked it and please go send asha (@[jingrapher](http://jingrapher.tumblr.com/)) lots and lots of love! and let us know what you think of it so far! come say howdy to me @[softsocky](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

                He didn’t want to admit to his brother that he was going on a trip with _just_ his boss all the way to Busan, but it was the fact of the matter and he needed Jinwoo to help him back his bags. After getting an earful on how ridiculous it was that he had to go all the way over there for three days, he packed him his best outfits and a lunch and his mother gave him a kiss on the cheek when he left the house.

                He wasn’t entirely sure why Minhyuk had insisted he should come with him to Busan, but Sanha slipped on his ID (the one he had scribbled _Minhyuk’s Assistant_ on) and got out of the taxi to meet Minhyuk in the parking lot. He was already standing by his car, the expensive one that he had been dropped off with the weeks before, in a thick beige sweater and black leather pants, an outfit that left Sanha’s heart confused with how hard it was pounding. Minhyuk looked up at Sanha, who was also wearing a thick sweater - though he knew it wasn't worth as much as Minhyuk’s - and slacks that were too short for him. Not to mention his corduroy jacket that rested on his shoulders.

                “Hi, Minhyuk!” A smile broke out and he ran up, dragging the carry-on suitcase behind him and skidding to a stop in front of the editor-in-chief. Minhyuk did a brief glance over his outfit and his eyes stopped at the ID, an almost-smile gracing his face for a moment before he looked at the suitcase.

                “Is that all you’re bringing?” Minhyuk gestured at his driver to grab it and watched it be put into the trunk next to his _three_ bags. Sanha wasn’t sure what in the world Minhyuk was planning for with three different bags of clothing, but he was sure that he wasn’t as prepared. “Whatever, doesn’t matter. Get into the car.”

                “Okay, Captain Minhyuk!” He gave him two thumbs up and sat next to him in the backseat. Minhyuk was even prettier up close, if that was possible. This was the second time Sanha had sat next to him but it hadn’t gotten any easier on him. It was probably his hair that was at fault: how it looked so soft to the touch. Sanha resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hair either way, easing into his seat and staring at the front.

                The drive to the airport, the plane ride, and the drive to the hotel made Sanha extremely tired and ready to drop by the time they got to the help desk. Sanha was relieved that Minhyuk took over the process of fetching the keys, ushering him upstairs with a hand hovering over his shoulder. The card was swiped to reveal a large hotel room with two beds, a door leading to a bathroom, and a view that was hard to tear his eyes from. For a moment, he didn’t notice that there were two beds in one room, but it seemed that Minhyuk did after he made an audible gasp. Sanha then _did_ notice, and his eyes darted around before meeting Minhyuk’s with an awkward flush hitting his cheeks.

                “Are we…sleeping in the same room?”

                “I…no! Of course not! This was a total screw up, I’m going to clear this up.” Minhyuk huffed and threw his jacket on one of the beds, quickly shutting the door behind him and heading back downstairs to the help desk.

                Sanha didn’t want to admit it, but he turned into a giggly mess the second Minhyuk walked out.

***

                “It’s _fine_ , Minhyuk! I don’t mind sharing a room with you! I’m a very silent sleeper.” Sanha was already unpacking his clothes carefully, a pile on the edge of the bed along with some in messy heaps on the floor. He was already in his lounging clothes (an old oversized sweatshirt that Jinwoo had given him paired with black leggings) which he had never expected Minhyuk to see any time soon if ever. His favorite hair clips fell out of the pocket in his pants, and he pinned part of his hair back, turning suddenly at a cough from Minhyuk.

                “Are those…pink hair clips?”

                “Aren’t they cute?” Sanha put up little bunny ears and made a kissy face, causing Minhyuk to choke and Sanha to be concerned for a moment. He wasn’t sure what made Minhyuk so apposed to the ribbons that everyone else seemed to love but Sanha would accept it since the older boy was the fashion expert. Still, he would keep them in for now.

                The night grew closer and Minhyuk still hadn’t changed into any pajamas or homey clothing, his leather pants and sweater still making Sanha nervous. They had ordered room service by now – fried chicken since it was Sanha’s choice – and Minhyuk had dismissed himself to take a shower. Taking a shower was something he definitely needed to do after the fatigue of travelling, even if it wasn’t that long of a distance. He was really tempted to use the bathtub since it had waterjets, but he decided it might be a little weird to be soaking in a tub when Minhyuk would be just on the other side of the door.

                When the chicken arrived, Sanha gave the bellhop an extra tip and dug in while he waited for Minhyuk, one hand covered in the sticky sauces and the other scrolling through the channels on the television, feeling a lot more content than he probably ever had. Before he could feel content with being aloof for the first time since he had started working at Sat;n, he heard the bathroom door unlock and Minhyuk stepped out of the restroom in only a robe courtesy of the hotel and a towel around his neck as he was rubbing his hair dry. If anything was dry, it was Sanha’s _throat_.

                The soaked hair that rested on his forehead, the bare-face with the little freckles on his nose and cheeks, and the rosy face from the steam that poured out behind him all added up to making Sanha rather nervous. Minhyuk didn’t seem to notice until their eyes met, and Sanha couldn’t tell that Minhyuk was flushed too thanks to the already pink cheeks. They didn’t say anything but Minhyuk’s hand slowly pulled the robe closer to him. Sanha tried to make out a word while his eyes darted between the freckles in vain, nothing coming out of his mouth.

                “Is there something on my face?”

                “Dressed!” He squeaked. “Bathroom!”

                “Get dressed in the bathroom?” Sanha nodded, tearing his eyes away from Minhyuk and clutching his chest. What was with him today? Was seeing his very attractive boss in a robe and wet hair really that crazy? (Yes, it was, Sanha’s brain and heart were screaming). “I…alright. Hand me my clothes, they’re on the pillow.”

Sanha scrambled to Minhyuk’s bed to grab the satin pajamas that were set on top of his pillowcase, a really pretty pastel purple that Sanha just knew was going to look beautiful on him, especially since it seemed to button up with a ‘V’ in the middle. Oh God, his heart wasn’t ready for that. Still, he handed it over carefully and felt electricity run down his spine when they brushed fingers on accident. Minhyuk hesitated but turned back around to get dressed in the bathroom, leaving Sanha very frazzled.

***

Falling asleep last night was no easy feat, especially since Minhyuk had the cutest habit of talking in his sleep. He would never tell him, but he counted seven “Sanha’s” in his sleepy mumbles. As he spent more intimate time with Minhyuk it grew more difficult to believe the strange characterization that he was _scary_ or _mean_ or _Deimos_. Sanha did admit he had his moments with yelling or sharp glares, but overall Minhyuk seemed to have a secret soft spot under all the coolness he showed to the world. Sanha just wondered why everyone else didn’t see it, too. Still, he’d let Minhyuk be cool outwardly and still support him in it.

Today’s schedule was a lot different from the office: eating breakfast at eight, meeting with the interviewer from nine to eleven, setting up shooting until twelve, then taking a break for a few hours before shooting again at sunset. After that, they were free for the night. Sanha was growing antsy at the idea of the having to hang out with Minhyuk into the late hours, mostly because he knew he’d be exhausted after a day of active photo shoots, even if he wasn’t in them.

Once it came to eight and both of them had gotten ready – Sanha in his signature jacket as well as cream pants and another oversized sweater, Minhyuk in skinny black jeans and black turtleneck with an olive colored bomber – they headed down to the café on the beach only a five minute drive from where they were staying. Since they were going to be shooting on location, Sanha was excited to do more sightseeing. He had been to Busan before but he was a lot younger and didn’t remember much. The beaches proved a lot more comforting than Seoul’s cityscape and Sanha couldn’t help but long to work here instead. He looked away from the crashing waves and back to his food with a smile.

“Thanks for taking me with you, Minhyuk. It’s really beautiful out here.”

“It’s just a work trip, and you’re my assistant.” Minhyuk said this while taking a bite of his French toast and cocking his eyebrow. “Though…you make it sound like you don’t travel often.”

“Of course I don’t, I was a student up until a year or so ago, so I didn’t have much time.” Sanha’s student life was diligent, and he was a hard worker with good grades. He wasn’t top of his class, but he wasn’t average either, instead he was in a good middle ground. His parents were proud of him either way because he maintained a good record and stayed out of trouble. However, he did feel like he missed a lot because of it.

“I was just in Rome last month.” Sanha knew that Minhyuk said this in not a braggy way, but a ‘that’s a foreign concept to me’ way. He supposed that not having gone to even Thailand with his friends was a bit strange, but at least he has this chance now.

“Can I go with you next time?”

“You don’t have a choice, you’re my assistant.”

“Huzzah!” Sanha pointed his fork to the sky and giggled.

Finishing breakfast wasn’t hard when it was that delicious and paired with such a gorgeous view. They wrapped it up and headed to Igidae Park, where they would meet the interviewer. Sanha had heard about Igidae Park before and how scenic it was, a panoramic view of Busan being visible on the walk through a forest. Sanha hasn’t expected it to be _this_ lovely though, and he found himself forgetting that this was a business trip. Luckily for him they had managed to get here twenty minutes earlier, so they took a walk around and Sanha excitedly took a million photos of the forest, Gwangalli Beach and Haeundae Beach, and soon he called for Minhyuk’s attention. He looked up at him with a startled expression and Sanha captured a photo with his phone, looking at it and biting his lip to hold in a giggle.

“What are you doing?” Minhyuk took a step closer and Sanha snapped another one, a wide smile spread across his face. “Are you…taking photos by chance?”

“Yes! I really want to remember this.” Sanha swiped through the photos and turned his phone around to show them, Minhyuk squinting as he looked intently. “How is it?”

“Cute.”

Sanha wasn’t sure why hearing the word cute from Minhyuk didn’t quite match, but he appreciated the moment nonetheless.

The interviewer finally arrived, introducing herself to Minhyuk and Sanha and saying they could be walking around the park as they talked. Sanha agreed it was a great idea, and once he did Minhyuk nodded as well. When it can’t to people outside of the office Sanha noticed that Minhyuk came off as ‘cool’ rather than ‘scary’. No matter how he treated his employees inside of the office, he was still a professional man who held himself to a high standard. There was no need to start scandals or anything, Sanha had definitely seen when high ranking workers got haughty and it backfired. Not that someone as incredible as Minhyuk would, of _course_.

The interview was interesting even if Sanha’s interest was wavering between the plants around him and Minhyuk. A lot of questions were basic like ‘why did you get into fashion’ and ‘why Sat;n’? The woman popped her head around Minhyuk and pointed at Sanha. “Who’s this?”

“Yoon Sanha.” Minhyuk put a hand on his back and Sanha all but jumped out of his skin. “He’s my assistant.”

“Have you worked there long, Sanha?”

“Uh! About a month right, Minhyuk?” The lady wrote it down and cocked an eyebrow.

“You don’t call him Mr. Park?”

Sanha just laughed, a sunshine smile hitting even the interviewer hard as he shook his head. “I like Minhyuk a lot and I don’t want any boundaries between us! I’m pursuing being his friend very seriously.”

***

Sanha wasn’t sure why Minhyuk had been so flustered after the interview but he did have a small feeling it was his fault. He didn’t focus on it long when the driver picked them up to get lunch, which they hurried through to head to the next schedule for the shoot. They were shooting at Gamcheon Culture Village today, a part of Busan known for being extremely colorful and bright. It was particularly beautiful during the day but also at sunset when lights just started coming on. The photographer took advantage of ‘golden hour’ to capture the few moments before sunset and after. Sanha thought he was smart.

Minhyuk has excused himself to change in the photographer’s van quickly, and when he came out he was dressed in an all black outfit with a padded stark white jacket on top. He stuck out among the colorful houses and art pieces littered around the village. Every time the photographer would tell him to move slightly, Minhyuk would hit the pose so perfectly the photographer would grin before each shot. He had estimated it taking three to four hours, but Minhyuk flew through it in only two, allowing them to move through more of the village and take more creative shots instead. The makeup artist would adjust things carefully and Sanha could tell being that close was flustering her too. Minhyuk was _cool_ though, and he didn’t seem too bothered.

They finished as quickly as they started, and the photographer thanked Minhyuk for working so hard. Before they parted ways, he called out for Sanha to come over. He blinked a few times, looking at Minhyuk with a startled expression. He nodded for him to go so he scrambled over. The photographer stood him in front of a painted wall, the cream colored sweater and tan slacks standing out against it. He tried posing him but it didn’t seem to work, so he called Minhyuk over and tried talking to him. Sanha was trying his best and all, but modeling wasn’t exactly something he did often (or ever) so it left him clueless.

“Sanha, you’re doing well.” That set off a smile that was almost as bright as the wall behind him, and the photographer managed to capture it before Sanha shyly covered it with his hand.

***

They were lucky to have finished so quickly and it allowed them to head over to Dadaepo Beach just before the fountain show started. Sanha has seen a lot of Instagram photos of “The Dadaepo Sunset Fountain of Dream”, Minhyuk explaining he chose to go there after dinner because it was the world’s largest floor fountain. Once the sky was inky and the fountain set off, the colors were beautiful, and Sanha couldn’t wait for it. They got there early enough to be pretty close, and Sanha took Minhyuk’s hand while weaving through the crowd, something he quickly let go of once they were standing in place.

The fountain started and Sanha gasped, the lights and colors colliding so gorgeously with the music that he was mesmerized. He watched with wide eyes, almost childlike, until he heart a phone shutter noise and turned to see Minhyuk with his phone camera pointed at him. Sanha tried to stutter out a ‘why?’ but it was far too loud, so Minhyuk leaned in to say, “Because it’s really pretty.”

Sanha’s eyes didn’t stay on the fountain after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyways im garbage who can’t update on time, whATS NEW  
> hit me (up) @[jingrapher](http://jingrapher.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

If Minhyuk had learnt anything from his assistant, it was that judging a book by its cover was as absurd as it was unfashionable. Not that Sanha knew much about  _ fashion _ , per se, but he put up a good argument. Sure, the fashion industry somewhat depended on it, but lately, it was Sanha who had started to change Minhyuk’s perspective of beauty.

Sanha was, objectively speaking, handsome. Or  _ pretty _ , so to speak, as he had often heard others saying – had caught  _ himself  _ saying, under the trance of dazzling fountain lights and sounds of rolling and crashing waves in the distance. He remembers uttering those damn words, remembers the way Sanha’s cheeks had turned a stunning shade of pink visible even under the night sky, his eyes glazed over and unfocused. Minhyuk remembers thinking that Sanha was far brighter, far more beautiful, than any light show could ever be.

Which was why Minhyuk couldn’t bring himself to judge Sanha’s appearance now.

Minhyuk hated being held prisoner by his emotions, hated how it made him feel weak, even  _ susceptible _ . He  _ hated  _ how he could glance at Sanha’s position at his desk – placing a coffee on the coaster by his laptop, plenty of ice, just like always – wearing his corduroy jacket over a pair of what Minhyuk  _ thinks  _ is a pair of  _ 80’s _ acid-wash jeans and mismatched socks, the t-shirt he wears swooping at the collar from age, and  _ not _ find it repulsive. Instead, his heart swooped up and nestled in the back of his throat, and the strange, unfamiliar fluttering that had been solidifying in his gut the past few weeks starts to increase in its fluttering, surging upwards and accompanying his rapidly-beating heart. 

The outfit was uncoordinated and the colours and patterns made no sense, but Minhyuk’s mouth was dry as he swallowed, and his hands were clammy from where they were holding onto his overcoat and bag. Sanha lifted his head and smiled across at him when Minhyuk cleared his throat. His cheeks were flushed, and his nose unnaturally red. 

His hand was a little shaky as he lifts it into a wave. “Good morning, Minhyuk!”

He can tell that Sanha is trying to convey the same level of enthusiasm as he usually would, especially considering he’d made it his personal mission to convert him into a morning person, but despite that, Minhyuk could detect the fraudulence in his voice. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and the way he fiddled with one of the buttons of his jacket made Minhyuk suspicious.

“What’s wrong?” Minhyuk walked around his desk and dropped his bag, but didn’t miss the way Sanha gulped.

“N-nothing, Minhyuk.”

He continues to eye the beads of sweat up by Sanha’s hairline. He unfurls his scarf and hangs his coat up on the hook. “You’re sick.”

“No, I’m not.”

“ _ Yes _ , you are.”

“Minhyuk, I’m f—”

A knock on his office door cut Sanha off. Snapping his head around with a scowl, Minhyuk is met with the face of an unfamiliar woman with a severe bun atop her head. “Sorry to bother you, Mr Park,” she says, hands shaking by her side.

He scoffs, “then, why did you?” 

Behind him, he hears Sanha gasp. “ _ Minhyuk!” _ He turns to shift his gaze to a stern-looking Sanha, arms folded across his chest. He stares at him pointedly for a moment, before Minhyuk resigns with a deep sigh, diverting his attention back to the woman in the doorway.

“What can I do for you?” She hesitates, eyes jumping between the two of them. Despite Sanha’s warning, he finds himself growing impatient. They were in the middle of something, and she had rudely barged in and—

As if detecting his annoyance, she stumbles back a little. “MJ is requesting your presence in the shoe department. He said it’s an emergency.” She hurries away before Minhyuk could say anything more, and he looks back at Sanha when he hears him sigh.

“What?”

Sanha, still red-faced and sweaty, shrugs. “They’re all so scared of you. I wish…” he trails off, pouting. 

Minhyuk groans internally when he sees the disappointment etching itself in his assistants eyes. “You wish…?” He prompts, stepping closer to the boy. 

“I wish they could see what  _ I _ see,” he explains, barely meeting his eyes. From the brief glimpses he could catch, they were still hazy and distant, and clouded by a fever Sanha was refusing to accept. Minhyuk had the sudden urge to wrap his assistant up in a big blanket, or his arms—but Minhyuk stops that thought there, because he feels pink dance across his cheeks at the thought of holding Sanha in his arms like that. 

“I wish you would try to sound a little nicer to them,” he adds with a pathetic-looking shrug, eyes lowered to the floor. His toe kicks along the carpet, tracing invisible patterns with his shoe. 

“I  _ am _ nice,” Minhyuk says defensively, shoving is phone into the pocket of his trousers, picking up his coffee. 

Sanha’s expression immediately softens, eyes snapping up to meet his. Minhyuk stiffens when both of Sanha’s hands latch onto his arm. “You’re the  _ nicest _ , Minhyuk! You’re like, the nicest person I know! But that's the thing.  _ I  _ know how nice you are, but  _ they  _ don’t know that. They just think you’re mean and hate happiness.” 

Minhyuk adjusts the collar of his shirt. “I—” he stops, frowning. “Sanha, I’m their  _ boss _ , I need to be professional and—”

“It’s okay if you don’t know how, Minhyuk! I can teach you!” He blurts out, as if reading his mind. He grabs his shoulders, pushing him out of his own office. “Now, hurry up! You know what MJ is like when he gets stressed!”

Minhyuk grunts, stumbling a little as Sanha leads him towards the direction of the elevator. “Sanha,” he says, before he steps inside. “Have a cup of tea, alright? It’ll help with the head cold.” 

“Minhyuk, I said I’m  _ fine— _ ”

“Sanha,” he repeats, lips poised. 

His assistant frowns, but nods. “ _ Yes _ , Minhyuk.”

  
  


Sanha worsens as the week goes on. 

Minhyuk knows he’s trying to hide it, but it’s impossible to miss the way his assistant has grown clumsier and more forgetful. As time progresses, his eyes become hazier, more glazed over, and Minhyuk can’t help but feel he isn’t really  _ there  _ when he talks to him. Despite this, he continues to produce excellent work, albeit a bit slower than usual. Minhyuk goes easy on him though, because every morning he walks into his office, and finds Sanha is already there, coffee waiting for him, and his agenda for the day is on his desk and always has a smiley face drawn at the top of it. 

Everything was as it always was, except every time Minhyuk looked at him, he’d see black bags underneath empty brown eyes; he’d see sweaty hairlines and shaking hands; and he’d hear heavy breathing and the odd groan of pain when the younger moved too quickly. He cared for the health of his, dare he admit it, best employee; how every time he looked at him for too long, Sanha would gulp nervously and tug his shirt down, as though he were able to hide his ailment. Minhyuk hated how that made him feel, as though Sanha didn’t trust him, or didn’t want him to think poorly of him.

It’s when he finds Sanha asleep at his desk that Minhyuk decided he’s had enough.

When he spots him, he stops walking with a sigh, pausing mid-step in front of Sanha’s desk. He smiles down at the name plaque that Sanha had taken to decorating with little stickers - smiley faces and love hearts and little stars - and keeping immaculately polished and shiny. His eyes move across the desk - takes in the tiny potted cactus, the photo of him and his family, the mess of loose post-it notes and gel pens - before settling on his assistant.

Sleeping, he’s much calmer. Sanha is loud and takes up lots of space - not in the sense that he’s taking up  _ physical _ space, but rather he presents himself and holds himself in such a way that commands attention, drawing in space instead of trying to shrink it. He did so unseemingly, because whenever someone gave him too much attention, Minhyuk would see how he’d shrink backward, down in on himself. He’d watch the way the bouncy and boisterous assistant he knew fairly well, would cower back. But even still - despite the fluctuations Sanha found himself in - he was always taking up space. Gladly, happily - space Minhyuk was proud to give way to him.

Right now, though, Sanha looked  _ small.  _

His cheeks are still red and his face sweaty, and although his eyes are drawn shut in a gentle slumber, his heavy breathing and constant twitching suggests otherwise. There’s a half-drunk cup of tea beside him that Minhyuk knows has gone completely cold, and a sad looking pastry has a single bite of it before it was clearly shoved to the side. That in itself was so very unlike Sanha, who had a permanent sweet tooth, and a hunger that never truly seemed to be satiated.

Minhyuk returns his laptop and coffee to his desk before making his way back to Sanha’s desk, squatting down so they’re at eye-level. Like this, Minhyuk can hear the soft little whimpers the boy lets out, how the twitching coincides with the tugging behind his eyelids. It didn’t look like a nightmare - at least, not a bad one - but it didn’t look like Sanha was enjoying whatever he was dreaming, either. Minhyuk hates how when his eyes drift lower, to where the youngers lips are pink and pouty around the mumbles, his mouth feels dry and his heart rate increases, the pounding in his ears becoming almost deafeningly loud. The repetitive sound is overwhelming and unfamiliar, and he thinks he could maybe place a name to the feeling but finds himself worried for whatever that would end up meaning for him, so he avoids it.

Without thinking, Minhyuk reaches his hand out to run his fingers through his assistants curly hair, which was knotted in some parts. He was unkempt, in a way, but still maintained a somewhat level of professionalism that Minhyuk was proud of him for - given his current state. At the last minute, he catches himself, snapping his hand away from the boys head and down to his shoulder. He rests it there for just a delicate moment, letting the rush in his head and the pounding in his ears subside just enough for him to shake Sanha’s shoulder gently.

The younger immediately grunts, twisting on the seat, but doesn’t awaken fully. “Hnng?” 

Minhyuk bites back the smile fighting against his lips, presses his lips together in a stern pout. “Sanha?” He shakes his shoulder again, with a little more force this time. “ _ Yoooon Sanhaaaa _ ?” He says in a sing-song voice, one he immediately regrets and hopes no one else in the office heard him use. 

The boy in question grunts again, though this time he inhales deeply through his nose, eyes pinching together tightly before snapping open. They’re searching and confused, but when they clear, and Minhyuk’s face comes into focus, they flicker with recognition. “Minhyuk!” It’s gurgly and croaky, evidence of his sickness, but it’s as vibrant and endearing as always. Minhyuk hates how he’s pretty even like this. _No_ _one_ is supposed to be pretty with snot coming out of their nose and with sweaty skin. But here Sanha was, always the exception.

Minhyuk pushes up from his squat, forcing the younger to look up at him. “You need to go home, Sanha.”

The boy is immediately standing from his desk. Minhyuk scowls at the way  _ he _ now has to look up at  _ him _ . “Minhyuk, no! I was barely asleep, just resting my eyes! I’m f--”

“If you say you’re fine one more time, Sanha,” Minhyuk interferes, raising both brows to his hairline in emphasis. Sanha swallows, but grunts in acceptance. “Now. I have a meeting in five. Can you wait that long? I’ll drive you home afterwards.”

Straight away, Sanha looks uncomfortable. “I can take the train, really, it’s no bother--”

Minhyuk snorts humorously as he turns back into his office, feeling Sanha trail behind him, close on his heels. “I’ve been driving you home since you basically started here, Sanha.”

“I  _ know _ ,” he argues, hands-on-hips, though looking far from intimidating. “But this time I would be leaving early. It’s an inconvenience to you.” He stops, pouts, fingers lacing together in front of himself, “ _ I’m _ an--”

Minhyuk raises his hand, stopping him. “ _ Don’t _ finish that sentence. Head to the meeting room, alright? I’ll be there in a minute.” He turns his back so Sanha knows not to bother fighting against him, and he only turns around again when he hears the youngers defeated sigh and retreating footsteps. 

He walks to the meeting assuredly, checking his schedule and glad there's nothing to cancel or rearrange after the meeting, which meant getting Sanha home would be without hassle. When he gets to the meeting room, everyone has already arrived, though looking more nervous than usual. Minhyuk knew they were always nervous to some extent - always terrified Minhyuk would insult them, or embarrass them in front of their coworkers - but they usually hid it better than this. When he steps inside, closing the door behind him, he immediately understands why.

His usual seat, at the head of the table on the far side of the room, was currently occupied by his assistant. His head was resting on his elbow, perched on the table, eyes half-closed. He was blinking slowly, as if trying to get a few seconds of sleep between each movement. Sanha hadn’t seemed to notice the shift in the rooms atmosphere, and if they were alone, Minhyuk might’ve even smirked. Instead, he turns on his heel, ignoring the squeak of protest from one of the interns, and returns moments later with a spare chair from one of the other meeting rooms. Wordlessly, he pushes it around the side of the table, stopping it beside Sanha’s.

He keeps the meeting as brief as he can, trying his best not to raise his voice to save startling Sanha from his delirious state. Halfway through the meeting, everyone seems to visibly relax, including Sanha, albeit subconsciously. He thinks back to Sanha’s comments earlier in the week, about wishing others could see how nice he was. He smiled inwardly, feels his eyes soften at the reflection. The words had made his stomach twist and churn, tying itself in knots; he wished he understood the reaction, wished he understood why it kept happening. Even now, as he rests his hand on Sanha’s shoulder, as though on instinct, as Myungjun perks up and starts chattering across the table to the accessories department. Minhyuk doesn’t want to think much of it, but each time he returns his hand to Sanha’s shoulder, or his forearm when he’s sitting, Sanha immediately stops shaking.

Driving him home is complicated, because at first, Sanha had outwardly refused to leave the office. Minhyuk had forcibly heaved him from his seat, holding up his coat to him and staring at him pointedly until the younger resigned, slipping his arms through the sleeves. Minhyuk then wrapped his scarf around Sanha’s neck tightly, before ushering him towards to the elevator without so much as a glance across the office. He’s sure he heard a few gasps, but he ignored them, choosing to focus on keeping his assistant upright instead. 

When they get to his place, Minhyuk finds himself somewhat nervous. Of all the time he had dropped Sanha home, never once had he ever even left the car before. The car hovers outside, and Sanha grips at the lapel of Minhyuk’s coat timidly. “Will you--” He starts, but then stops, shaking his head and muttering something to himself. “Nevermind,” he says, turning to him, eyes droopy. “Thanks, Minhyuk. Sorry for making you drive me home.”

Minhyuk waves his hand dismissively, but then inches a tiny bit closer to him on the leather. “What were you going to ask?”

Sanha shakes his head, but then Minhyuk throws him a cautionary glance, and he stops. “Can you stay with me for a while?” Minhyuk feels his heart stop beating. Sanha’s eyes are staring into his, wavering, desperate. “It’s silly, I know you have to get back, the new edition is coming out and--”

“Sanha, stop.” He does, mouth ajar. Minhyuk’s heart starts beating again as Sanha’s eyes dance across his face. Minhyuk hates how his cheeks flush at the attention; hates how his heart is increasing its beating every second he stares. “You’re more important than that magazine will ever be, okay?” 

It’s not that he regrets the words, it’s that he hates the honestly behind them. He hates how truthful they taste on his tongue, how they feel comforting and warm and like theres no ounce of betrayal or deceit within them. They were uttered as a comforting gesture to his assistant, but the moment they slipped out between his teeth, he realised how definitively true they were. How  _ undeniable.  _

Beside him, Sanha squeaks, cheeks aflame, and pushes himself from the car. After a moment of consideration, Minhyuk follows suit, waving goodbye to his driver, and tells him he’ll get ahold of him later. They make their way to Sanha’s block silently, though they exchange wordless looks across the small distance at each other, cheeks pinkening each time. Sanha breathes out hastily when they get to his door. 

“No one’s home - parents are away.” Minhyuk nods, swallows dryly and steps in after him.

It’s homey, homier than Minhyuk’s apartment would ever be. There’s photos hanging everywhere and colour bursting from the seams, and it’s easy to see why Sanha takes up so much space when he was raised somewhere like this. It’s warm and open, and screams a life story that Minhyuk can’t help but envy. Sanha flaps his hand around as he leads him through the unit, muttering out delirious sounding words - “kitchen” and “bathroom” and “dining room” - before they stop outside a room at the end of the hall. 

“Mind the mess,” Sanha says, voice suddenly small and shy. Minhyuk steps through into what was undeniably Yoon Sanha’s room. The thought of that alone made Minhyuk’s palms sweat, felt a flame catch fire in his veins as he takes in the cramped bookcase and crowded desk in the corner. The bed is made, albeit messily, and posters and photographs line the walls. There's a string of lanterns across the top of his bed, which Sanha collapses onto. 

Minhyuk can feel himself being watched as he looks at the photos, smiling at the dorky faces Sanha pulls with who must be his brother, Jinwoo. When Minhyuk turns back to the bed, Sanha is kicking out of his shoes, and shucking the coat and scarf off. Minhyuk takes them from him, hanging them on the back of his desk chair, before rounding the side of the bed and sitting opposite Sanha. He props himself up against the pillows, and by the looks of Sanha’s facial expression, he’s torn between wanting to speak and falling asleep. 

With all the softness he can muster, Minhyuk smiles down at him. “ _ Sleep _ , Sanha. I’ll still be here.” 

He must be satisfied, because within the next instant, he’s half asleep again, but he’s curling his lips open and muttering. “You’re  _ nice _ , Minhyuk.  _ Nice, nice, nice,”  _ he mutters, but it’s a sleepy blur, and Minhyuk can’t be sure he heard him right. 

Minhyuk falls into some kind of dreamstate himself after an hour or so, drifting in and out of sleep, gently pulled by Sanha’s even breathing and tiny whimpers. He’s tugged awake alarmingly quick when Sanha, still asleep, suddenly reaches out to him, small hands curling around his shirt, and drags himself up the length of his body. Minhyuk stops breathing, breath caught in the back of his throat, and Sanha drops his head against his chest. He lets out a huff, and another whine, eyes squeezing together tightly before releasing, and his muscle relax once more. 

When Minhyuk’s breathing again, his hand resting on Sanha’s back, and Sanha’s breathing starts to tickle up the side of his neck, Minhyuk feels a sudden sense of dread, of  _ realisation _ . He knows what this feeling is now, knows what that fire is, what that twisting sensation is in his gut. He  _ knows  _ this. He knows it, and he sure as hell doesn’t like it. 

“Aw,  _ crap _ .”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ily. i hope u liked this even if its like, subpar to asha's chapter oxxooxox


	7. Chapter 7

                He didn’t _mean_ to scream when he entered Minhyuk’s office, but he couldn’t help it when his eyes hit the magazine that was spread out. He of _course_ hadn’t forgotten the trip they had taken and the fact that a magazine would be produced in result of it, however he surely didn’t know Minhyuk would be the cover of it. He looked gorgeous – no he looked more than gorgeous. He looked like an absolute god on the cover, and Sanha would very readily buy every copy off the shelves.

                “Ah, Sanha, you’re here.” Minhyuk flipped to a page that showcased Minhyuk’s interview and one of the spreads he was featured in, and his finger pointed at the photo in the corner that Sanha was too far from the paper to see. He took a few steps closer and squeaked again, realizing that it was _him_ on the page. He wasn’t sure how in the hell he managed to be on the same spread as Minhyuk, but the genuine laughing smile that the photographer captured was pretty accurate to his mood right now.

“Minhyuk…am I dreaming? Is that really me?”

“Yes, it sure is. I bought enough copies for you to share with your family.” Minhyuk slid four copies over and Sanha barely noticed a faint smile as he grabbed them and spun around haphazardly. “Be careful, that’s thirty dollars per copy and it shouldn’t get creased.” Sanha stopped spinning quickly but felt himself reel from the dizziness, Minhyuk reaching out and steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Thank you Minhyuk! Gosh, I can’t wait to show my mom-”

“Well, you need to wait. We’re on the final stretch of next month’s edition.” It was strange that Sanha had almost forgotten the whole magazine part of his job. It seemed like he had gotten caught up in all of the trips and extras with following Minhyuk around that it didn’t appear to him that they would actually have to _publish_ one soon. It made him excited to finally have a physical representation of the work he had been putting in for the past **date**. Sanha felt like maybe it would all pay off.

As he tied up the few tasks that Minhyuk had given him, he was surprised as he glanced at the door and found Jinwoo looking in. He did a double take before standing up suddenly. He _swore_ this was some kind of optical illusion, but Jinwoo was let in by Bin and led to Sanha’s desk. “Hey, kiddo.”

“Jinwoo! What are you doing here?” Sure, Jinwoo knew the address of the company in case of emergencies, but he had never expected him to actually show up. “Is something wrong? Are Mom and Dad okay?”

“Yes, they’re fine, I just wanted to check up on you. Mom made you some soup and she wanted me to bring it to you.” He held up the soup container that was tied up in a cloth. Of course his mother had come through for him, Sanha thought. He hadn’t been sick once without healing from that famous soup. Despite it being a few days since he had been brought home by Minhyuk, his mother had become increasingly worried that Sanha was overworking himself. Really it was a strong possibility…not that Sanha would admit that to Minhyuk or anyone else.

Either way, he was glad that Jinwoo had come to deliver the food for him. He heard his name be called and upon turning found that it was Minhyuk, who made direct eye contact with Jinwoo and instantly sparked tension.

***

                Yoon Jinwoo was a reasonable man. He prided himself in that along with a lot of things, such as how he had helped raise Sanha as their parents were busy through his childhood. He loved his little brother more than anyone else in his life, and he was ready and able to fight anyone necessary if they got in the way of making Sanha happy. When Sanha was younger, he had gotten teased a lot and it was up to Jinwoo to deal with those people on the playground. As Sanha grew up and also grew _up_ (he really was just so unendingly tall) Jinwoo decided to slowly wean Sanha off of him to teach him to take care of himself. He did grow up strong, and if he had gotten teased after that Jinwoo had never heard of it.

                However, he was worried about Sanha when he took the job that he was wholly unqualified for. He wasn’t worried about Sanha not catching up or anything like that – he was more worried about people teasing him or something worse because it was obvious that he was unqualified. Jinwoo wasn’t necessarily a “fashionista” himself but he did pride himself in the interest he had in street-wear and urban fashion. Because of this limited knowledge, he could understand that maybe Sanha’s choice of outfits wouldn’t be very suitable.

                Still, he had expected worse when he laid eyes on the infamous Minhyuk, not some model like man that looked inappropriate for the job. He held himself with an ego that Jinwoo easily recognized. If this was the guy that was bringing Sanha so much stress that he was ignoring at home, he was prepared to fight him.

                “Who is this?” The attitude off the bat was making Jinwoo defensive, but Sanha’s entire demeanor lit up once he had turned and saw him.

                “Minhyuk! This is Jinwoo, my older brother!” The tension was very obvious, but of course the kid didn’t pick up on it.

                “Hello. You must be Mr. Park.” He reached a hand out for Minhyuk to shake, but there was a pause as Minhyuk shot Sanha a glance before Sanha grabbed both of their hands and put them together.

                “All friends then? Good! I need to finish editing this article Jinwoo.” With that Sanha turned to his desk and sat back down to finish editing, which left Jinwoo and Minhyuk alone together; as alone as two people in the middle of an office could be.

                Before Minhyuk could make another comment, he leaned in close and gestured for Minhyuk to come closer. His mouth was just a few centimeters from Minhyuk’s ear now, and his lips were pursed to a thin line until he opened them. “If you dare to make Sanha unhappy in any way, compromise his safety, or break his heart, I will personally come after you and make your life a living hell.”

***

                Jinwoo still hadn’t left the office as the hours passed, and Sanha was surprised to see Minhyuk pull up a chair for him and get him a coffee so quickly. It made him glad to see that they were getting along, but it definitely wasn’t normal for people not be scared of Jinwoo. Considering how kind Jinwoo was to him, Sanha could never figure out why, but maybe he came off as a little harsh to other people.

                Sanha was finishing up his editing on an article that Minhyuk had assigned to him, his phone suddenly going off and Jinwoo glancing at it, the background being a photo he had taken of Minhyuk on their business trip weeks ago. He had changed it secretly, and Minhyuk hadn’t noticed it before thankfully (in reality he had noticed, but Sanha didn’t know that and neither did he know the shy smile he had hidden when he saw it). Sanha quickly rejected the call and in the process accidently hit his keyboard, causing the Word document to force close without saving. Sanha _shrieked_.

                “Minhyuk’s going to kill me!”

                “Why am I going to kill you...?” Minhyuk walked by and stopped at the desk with an eyebrow cocked.

                “The article is gone.” Sanha’s lip quivered and he felt scared of crying in front of Minhyuk. He knew that he wasn’t going to yell at him like other employees, but he also knew that he had messed up big time and it worried him that it would put them behind on deadlines. Sanha knew that he was already on thin ice with the other employees and it was beginning to get to him.

                But Minhyuk didn’t yell like a tiny part of him expected, he just leaned over him and pressed a few buttons until the program came back up with the article untouched. Sanha sighed in relief, his heart thanking the heavens that nothing was ruined because of him. Minhyuk’s warm hand pet the top of Sanha’s head gently before walking off to continue his work, Sanha’s hands touching the top of his head carefully with his mouth slightly agape. Jinwoo snickered, nodding towards Minhyuk who was now gritting his teeth at someone inputting the wrong hex code.

                “I’m going to leave, Sanha. Good luck with your work today. When are you off?” Jinwoo grabbed his phone and wallet with a smile.

                “Um, probably late. We have to deal with some more editing before sending it off for a proof printing.” Jinwoo nodded and gave him a side hug, shooting a glance at Minhyuk that made Sanha giggle.

                He didn’t want to admit it, but it made him happy to see that Jinwoo hadn’t hated Minhyuk after meeting him. Minhyuk was becoming increasingly more important to him and he was finding himself falling into that _crush_ stage he dreaded so much. It wasn’t like he hadn’t admitted that Minhyuk was really attractive and all but it was a little strange to think about how he had held his hand on his head for a few seconds and turn it into an hour of reflecting.

Sanha was in deep but he didn't mind too much, especially since it seemed like Minhyuk cared about him at the very least. He was kind to him and he was sure that Minhyuk would even fit well with his family, despite Jinwoo being so scary. He stopped his unnecessary thoughts to focus on work instead.

They had wrapped up most of what needed to be done a few hours before they were out, which allowed the finished draft to be sent to the printers upstairs to have a proof copy before they would be sent to print at mass. It had been checked and double checked, and after about an hour a woman ran the copy downstairs with full binding and glossed pages. Everyone crowded around Minhyuk when he took it from her, the finished project making everyone itch to flip through. Minhyuk slowly began turning pages and everyone's smiles grew wider, the credits page after two turns being paused for everyone to find their names. Sanha's eyes scanned quickly but frowned when he couldn't find himself.

He supposed it was normal for an assistant to be missing from the list of important editors and writers, but a tiny part of him was upset to see his name missing. He tugged on Minhyuk's sleeve with a pout and Minhyuk's finger pointed directly under his own name to find **Assistant Editor-in-Chief** _Yoon Sanha_. He squealed, gripping the arm tighter and trying not to smile as wildly as he felt he was. Minhyuk passed the magazine off to Bin for him to look through it and cleared his throat.

"You can all head home early since we finished it already. Don't be late tomorrow or you'll be penalized." He walked back to his office and Sanha scurried after him.

"Minhyuk, Jinwoo invited me to go to the mall and get dinner afterwards." Minhyuk said ' _mm_ ' in response. "Do you...want to come with me?"

Sanha could have sworn his blood ran dry when Minhyuk turned around and gave him that look of pure disbelief, and he instantly regretted asking him. Was it weird to invite Minhyuk out on something that wasn't work related? He knew that Jinwoo always went out drinking with his coworkers at least once a week, but he was worried that it was a line crossed. Minhyuk looked between his computer and Sanha a few times before resting his eyes on Sanha. "Go with you?"

"Y-yeah! Unless that's weird to ask or you're busy or something, I just thought maybe you'd wanna look at clothes and maybe catch something to eat but maybe it's out of line-"

"Okay."

"Okay?" Sanha's tried to read his face for any insincerity but he couldn't detect it.

"Let's go then, there's no reason to keep your brother waiting."

Sanha felt like he was dreaming as he got into Minhyuk's car for the millionth time it felt like, driving to the strip mall with his leg shaking uncontrollably. It was a nervous habit that only surfaced when he was really feeling overwhelmed. Maybe it was dumb of him to invite his boss to hang out with his brother. He was _sure_ that Jinwoo was going to get angry.

The driver dropped them off in front of the café Jinwoo was in and Sanha led Minhyuk inside carefully. Jinwoo's jaw practically dropped at the sight of Sanha walking in with Minhyuk, but Sanha quickly ran up to hug him in an attempt to distract.

"Sorry for not telling you, we got out earlier than expected so I just headed over right after."

"And you brought your boss? To dinner and shopping? Like a date?" Sanha was lucky that Jinwoo had said this in such a hushed tone, but he was still feeling embarrassed at the accusation. He knew it was strange, but it was too late to take back what he had said and Minhyuk did say yes anyway. Sanha turned back to Minhyuk as Jinwoo grabbed his bag to leave, and it was clear that his boss felt a bit out of his element while he was there. They walked down the street and through the crowded people carefully, leading into a few stores that Jinwoo wanted to stop by. Sanha would point to certain pants or shirts and telling him what trend it was and when that trend was most popular. He was just showing offat this point, but he always wanted to impress his boss with how much he had looked into fashion after being hired.

They found themselves underground now at the cheaper places, clothing selling for less than ten dollars. Jinwoo was looking at earrings and Sanha just glanced over everything. He had a full wardrobe despite no one liking what was in it, and he didn't want to waste his paycheck on it if he didn't have to. That was, until Minhyuk had pointed at a shirt and said that would look good on him (to which Sanha instantly grabbed it and ran to the cashier). Other than _that_ though, Sanha's wallet stayed in his pocket.

Minhyuk didn't seem too interested in the selection either, but Sanha had a feeling it was more considering the quality and brands that were being offered in comparison to the Yves Saint Laurent suits he wore to work. Still, when Sanha pointed out a jacket that would look nice, Minhyuk turned right around and bought it too.

"Are you hungry, kiddo?" Before he could deny it, his stomach started grumbling that he indeed was hungry. “Let’s go, there’s a good American burger place around the corner.”

They made their way in and sat down at the booth to start looking through the menus. “I haven’t had a burger in three years.”

Jinwoo and Sanha looked at Minhyuk with their mouths ajar. If Sanha went a week without eating a burger, he was sure that he would fall over and wither away. Despite loving Korean foods just as much as American foods, burgers and fries were at the total top of his favorites list. He took the menu from in front of Minhyuk and pointed at his favorites from this place, including the _best_ seasoned fries in all of Seoul, and ordered for him before Minhyuk could argue.

                The food came quickly and Sanha’s mouth was already watering before it was set down on the table. He paused before taking a fry to allow Jinwoo’s ritual of taking a photo of their food for Twitter, and then turned to Minhyuk and held out a fry for him to eat. Minhyuk hesitated but took it from him and ate it, chewing thoughtfully until he covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh...that’s so good…”

                “I know! Try the burger, I know you like spicy food so I think you’ll love it.” Sanha snuck his phone out to take a photo when Minhyuk took his first bite, and he captured the look of surprise he made when he realized that Sanha was right about how good it was. Sanha giggled until Jinwoo cocked an eyebrow at him, which made him flustered enough to shut off his phone. They ate the rest of their food in peace, and other than the quiet mumbles of everyone across the restaurant and the music blaring in the background. It felt comfortable to sit with Minhyuk and Jinwoo, the silence between them not awkward either. They finished up their meal after a bit and got up to leave, Jinwoo going ahead to his car and telling Sanha to follow when he was done. It left Minhyuk and Sanha alone on the busy street, the lights hanging over them as Minhyuk stood in front of him with his hands shoved in his pockets.

                Sanha was rocking on his heels, glancing around before Minhyuk cleared his throat. “Hey, so uh…”

                “Yeah?”

                “Thank you for inviting me out.” Sanha giggled.

                “It’s no biggie, Minhyuk! I like your company.” He leaned in and whispered. “Don’t tell him I told you but, I think Jinwoo likes you too.”

                A small brief smile graced Minhyuk’s face and a hand moved to pet Sanha’s head for the second time today. “I’m glad to hear that.”

                “Thank you for coming out when I invited you. I was scared it was weird to ask you.”

                “It’s not, I like spending time with you.”

                Sanha shyly smiled back at him with his hands trembling in his pocket, and he felt his phone vibrate from Jinwoo’s text. He glanced back towards where Jinwoo’s car was parked and looked back at Minhyuk before biting his lip. “Alright…I have to go.” He took a step forward and hurriedly kissed Minhyuk’s cheek before taking a few paces back and turning around to run off to the car without another word.


	8. Chapter 8

It had, embarrassingly enough, reminded him of his first kiss.

_It_ being the feeling of Sanha’s lips against his cheek, the cool breeze whipping around them, so soft and quick that Minhyuk was sure he had imagined it.

                His first kiss had been when he was four, maybe five, and the vague recollection of events he can withdraw from his memory tells him that it had been raining. Had he been old enough to understand, he would have found it awkward the way he had so easily pointed to the first girl he saw when his friend asked him who he liked. He couldn’t imagine doing something like that _now_ , but given how things were back then, he wasn’t at all surprised.

                The kiss he gave the girl was, admittedly, only on the cheek – but the kiss itself was instantly titled as his very first, and had anyone asked him when his first kiss was, this was the very memory he’d relay to them.

                From there, he was reminded of his others.

                His second was much more realistic than the first. He was fourteen and his hands were fumbling as his friends watched on in amusement as he pecked his classmate on the lips; and it was that moment, _then_ , right _there_ , that his real first kiss took place.

                Even still, it was no better than his first.

                In actuality, it was no doubt _worse_ , because now, in the awkward teenage years he found himself in, his sexuality was more confusing than ever. The kiss elicited no fireworks, and there were no explosions behind his closed eyelids, and that was the most confusing part. He _liked_ this girl – as much as a fourteen-year-old can like anybody. He had for a while, too; and having found out she felt the same elated him above all else.

                But then they kissed, and Minhyuk felt sick.

                He isn’t entirely sure _why_ , perhaps it was because there was no real climax to it – he had built it up in his head, only to be severely let down when he learnt it was just two sets of lips pressing against each other awkwardly, fumbling, and then separating and never talking to each other again. His friends had teased him mercilessly for it, suggesting that it had been his kiss that scared her off. In all honestly, Minhyuk wasn’t able to deny them of that – because he wouldn’t be surprised if it _had._

                The first time he kissed a boy was eight months later, and had been with one of his good friends at the time. They were alone in a park just after school, and were sharing a tub of strawberry ice cream from the corner store. It was relatively empty given the time of day, and Minhyuk felt twisted and sick as he laughed with his friend. His sexuality that had been puzzling him for the past few years, was, more often than not, eating him alive, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out before he told any of his friends of it. He knew, deep down, that none of them would really mind so much – they were young and adaptive and open-minded about pretty much everything else.

                With this in mind, Minhyuk had taken that confusion, and acted upon it.

                Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea, but to this day he doesn’t regret it. Leaning across the swing set where they had been sitting, and pressing his lips nervously and without finesse against his friends when there was a lapse in the conversation, the world had stood still. The suppressed feelings of fear and worry and attraction, and that churning sensation in the base of his gut, sitting like acidic concrete, all surged upwards and breached the surface as one.

                Minhyuk’s hands that were wrapped around the chains of the swing slipped as he was shoved backwards, falling to his back onto the wood chips. Staring upward at the face of his friend – expression not _disgusted,_ but definitely more than just shocked – Minhyuk knew he had messed up. His friend left without so much as a goodbye, and although he did hear from him the next day at school, it never really felt the same.

                Minhyuk hadn’t minded so much, because as he aged, things became clearer. Not necessarily _easier_ , but the fog started to clear and Minhyuk found himself able to understand the clues better. He allowed himself to feel whatever it was he wanted to feel, whether that be towards a girl or a boy, and whilst there were only ever a small handful of kisses throughout his life, he found out fairly easily where his heart laid.

                Though he was aware of it, he never openly spoke of his sexuality. It was not something he was hiding, per se, but rather just something personal he had no obligation to share with anyone. It used to come up in interviews, but soon journalists learnt that he’d never answer, so they had all just stopped trying. His co-workers, though suspecting, had never asked him either; nor had they gained any significant proof or evidence to confirm their suspicions. Minhyuk assumes Bin, MJ and Dongmin have their inklings, of which they’re more than likely certain of, but he doesn’t mind - he’s known and worked alongside them long enough to that they’re far from judgemental.

                In all honesty, though, he doesn’t mind if anyone _does_ know – it’s more that he doesn’t understand why they’d _need_ to. They come here to work, to put together one of the biggest, and most renowned, fashion magazines, and nothing more. Minhyuk didn’t care for gossip, but if they wished to indulge themselves, then who was he to stop them? He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t _need_ to talk about it, but _then—_

                None of these kisses – not even if he were to combine them all – had ever made him feel the same way he did when Sanha had kissed him. That fluttering, flying feeling, with his head way up in the clouds, as though he were soaring up towards the stars. He had always viewed kissing as something he lost; you _lose_ your first kiss, you _lose_ yourself to the feeling of someone’s lips against your own.

                But with Sanha, it hadn’t been like that. Minhyuk felt as though all he had done was _gain._

                He had _gained_ that flying feeling; had _gained_ a rapidly beating heart; had _gained_ sleepless nights that followed; had gained the anxiety and the nerves that accompany such feelings, reminding him of his long-passed school days.

                Which was why Minhyuk found it so difficult to push back his blush when he walked into his office the next working day.

                “Morning, Minhyuk!”

                With a tired grunt, Minhyuk stops in his doorway as he eyes the coffee already placed on his desk, and to the side, the tall stack of envelopes. His cheeks are burning a vibrant shade of pink, he can _feel_ it, he just hopes Sanha doesn’t question it.

                “Minhyuk?” Sanha’s voice is suddenly laced with worry, and Minhyuk catches the way his smile falters when their eyes meet. “You look unwell,” he states, stepping closer.

                Minhyuk steps back and snatches his coffee. “I’m just tired, Sanha.”

                The frown lines on Sanha’s forehead deepen. “Are you not sleeping again?”

                Minhyuk pauses. “ _Again_?”

                His assistant shrugs. “I’ve heard from other people that there was a time where you just weren’t sleeping, and you got really si—”

                “Don’t believe everything you hear, Sanha,” he explains, softening his taught jaw and picking up the stack of mail. He hears Sanha whine in protest, unsatisfied with the response, but Minhyuk just rifles through the mail. He scans the senders, and instantly throws out letters of disinterest – unopened – into the trash.

                He lifts his head, a letter nearly slipping from between his fingers as his eyes are drawn straight away to Sanha’s lips, which are being gnawed at between the youngers teeth. He’s instantly drawn back to the feeling of them against his cheek, and the blush already adorning his cheeks travels up to the tips of his ears, and down below the collar of his shirt.

                “Any calls for me?” He asks, hoping to distract himself from the onslaught of heat along his face. He eyes the air conditioning vents in dismay, wondering if the system had failed.

                Sanha shakes his head, “no, but—” he scurries back to his desk, and returns with another envelope. “This came for you. They made me sign for it and everything, so it must be important!”

                Minhyuk eyes it curiously, lips twitching as he reads who had sent it, before tearing the envelope open. Quickly scanning his eyes over the letter, fingering at the invitation folded inside, before shifting his gaze back to his assistant.  “Go check on Dongmin with his latest spread, will you? I’ve got some calls to make.”

                When he’s out of ear shot, he’s dialling the familiar number, hearing the voice crackle down the line in greeting. “Myungjun? I have a favour to ask of you…”

 

***

A few days later, Minhyuk steps out from the elevator and rounds the corner into the wardrobe department. He has a takeaway coffee tray with two coffees, and a brown paper bag with a chicken wrap in it from the place he knows Sanha likes.  

                Myungjun’s body is half-in half-out of the fitting room, the red velvet curtain spreading out around his petite frame. He can’t see him, but Minhyuk knows it’s Sanha inside, confirmed by the painfully loud yelp he releases with Myungjun pricks him with a pin.

                “Sorry, _sorry_ ,” he mutters, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Minhyuk is thankful for Sanha’s sake – he had been on the receiving end of Myungjun’s pins one too many times.

                Minhyuk clears his throat when they lapse into silence, and Myungjun turns to look over his shoulder. “Hey, boss!

                “Is that Minhyuk?” He hears Sanha ask, and the curtain bubbles from where his assistants hands press against it in an effort to escape. Myungjun just shoves them back inside.

                “ _Sanha_ , not _yet!_ I don’t want him to see till it’s done!”

                “But _MJ,_ ” he whines, and Minhyuk can’t help but smirk when he sinks down into the armchair.  “I’m _starving!_ ”

                “Beauty is pain,” Minhyuk hears another voice say, and he draws his head back.

                “Dongmin? What are you doing here?”

                Dongmin snorts, but it’s Myungjun who replies. “I wanted you to have the whole experience! Dongmin’s doing his makeup, too!”

                Minhyuk pulls a face to himself, “but Dongmin isn’t even going to—” he stops himself, because Myungjun is pushing the curtain aside, and Sanha is stepping out. His face is lowered to the ground, so Minhyuk can’t see the makeup job Dongmin had done, but the outfit he wears is undeniably Sanha. He’ll admit, it’s a little disorientating seeing him without his jacket on, and finds he actually _misses_ it; but, he’ll also admit, that what he wears now suits him remarkably well, too.

                The trousers are high-waisted and of a sky-blue check, and into them is tucked a crème lace blouse. Overtop, and buttoned once at the neck, is a yellow striped shirt; and in any other situation, Minhyuk knows he’s push it aside and label it as tasteless and far too old-fashioned, but on his assistant, it _works._ He has to give props to Myungjun, he knows that, but Sanha’s tall and slender frame works the ensemble in such a way that is more natural than it is Myungjun’s doing.  

                And then, in a snap of confidence Sanha seems to find within himself, he lifts his head.

                Minhyuk, usually a figure of composure with an unbeatable poker face, feels his fingers fall a little slack on his coffee. His mouth is ajar, only slightly, and he quickly stands to his feet. He appraises his assistant from afar at first, at the smooth, milky skin, of the clear gloss on his lips, the coppery pinks of his eyeshadow – and, all at once, Minhyuk’s mouth feels dry.

                For all the time Minhyuk has worked in fashion, never before has he ever been left speechless by a model – and Sanha isn’t _even_ a model, though, this only confirms Minhyuk’s suspicions that he _should_ be.  

                Sanha fiddles with the collar of the yellow shirt, foot brushing along the carpet, a nervous habit. “Do I look okay, Minhyuk?” His voice wavers with uncertainty, and his bottom lip quivers when Minhyuk snorts.

                He puts his coffee down before stepping closer to his assistant, admiring the makeup and clothing up closer. “You look more than okay, Sanha,” comes Myungjun’s voice to the side. “You look _hot!_ ”

                Sanha sputters, and Minhyuk’s face turns a dangerous shade of red when Dongmin hums in agreement, throwing a sly wink at him. Minhyuk finds it far too endearing at the way Sanha’s back seems to straighten at the compliment, how his nervous frown turns into a wide, toothy smile. Sanha turns back to him, and Minhyuk is left winded again at how _pretty_ he is.

                “Do I _really_ , Minhyuk?”

                Minhyuk swallows dryly. “Do you what?”

                Sanha giggles, “look _hot_ , Minhyuk?”

                Minhyuk somehow manages to contain himself; stops himself from spluttering much like Sanha himself had done just moments before. “You look beautiful,” he mumbles, hating how his words lack his usual confidence. He ignores the looks coming from Dongmin and Myungjun, knows what they have to say. Sanha seems satisfied with his words, though, because he tucks his chin, cheeks flushing all over again, prettily.

                Cheekily, Minhyuk smirks across at him when he lifts his gaze, though he knows the softness doesn’t leave his eyes. “Do _you_ think you look hot?”

                Sanha hesitates, but then shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I really love this outfit, though!”

                Minhyuk nods his head once, “well, good. You’ll wear this then.”

                Sanha bites his lip, worrisome, and Minhyuk curses internally. “About that, Minhyuk…”

                Minhyuk raises a brow at him, urging him to continue. “What is it?”

                “What’s this all for?”

                Myungjun cackles, and Dongmin smiles at him as Minhyuk shrugs across at him. “For Paris Fashion Week,” he explains. “That is, if you’re happy to accompany me?”

                The scream that resonates is confirmation enough.

                He disappears down the hall, screaming something about needing to tell Jinwoo, but not before pressing a hasty kiss to the same cheek as before. Minhyuk stumbles back, bewildered.

                When Sanha’s gone, Myungjun snickers. “Wow, boss, you’re only a little bit whipped, aren’t you?” Dongmin cackles along with him when he raises his hand to his cheek, fingering at the tingling skin there.

                “Shut up,” he says moments later, but it’s too delayed to make any kind of impact other than adding fuel to the fire of Myungjun’s laugh.   

 

***

Minhyuk is sitting at his desk, phone against his ear. He rubs his temple in frustration as the designer complains down the line to him about the recent lack of exposure in _Sat;n_ , and Minhyuk has to bite his tongue to stop himself snapping.

                The reason the designer hadn’t been included in any spreads lately was due to the lack of print-worthy pieces they had designed, and while Minhyuk may have a reputation that says otherwise, he wasn’t entirely heartless. He didn’t have it in him to tell the designer that their life’s work wasn’t satisfactory; though, if they kept complaining the way they were now, he just might.        

                Suddenly, Sanha bursts through the door unannounced and into his office, eyes wide and electric, hair array. His mouth is spread wide over his teeth, and he’s bouncing on his toes as he crosses the room towards him. Minhyuk can’t help but zone out as he watches him, the designer’s screeches and complaints lost to him. The voice is a muted drone in his ear, and Sanha is a vibrant ray of sunshine he hadn’t realised he’d needed. Sanha, without even knowing, lifts his entire mood.

                “Minhyuk!” He screeches, and Minhyuk startles, phone almost slipping from his hands. He mutters an apology down the line, though only half-heartedly.

                Clutched tightly in both hands, Sanha carries a small book with colourful tabs sticking out along all the pages. He’s rambling, words spilling from his lips so quickly that he can’t quite grasp them, not with the way there’s someone screaming in his other ear, too. He finds, though, that whatever has Sanha so excited it far more important.

                He holds his finger up to Sanha, in a _‘one moment’_ gesture, before swivelling a little on his seat so his back faces him.  “Listen, I’ll have to call you back,” he says suddenly, hanging up before they could reply, twisting back to his assistant.   

                “Alright,” he says, “I’m all yours.”

                With a squeal, Sanha is slipping the book into his line of vision, opened at one of the pages on his desk. Minhyuk catches the title ‘ _Paris Must-Sees_ ’ and smirks down at the pages that Sanha haphazardly flicks through. His voice is loud and squeaky in his ear, and Minhyuk nods along to everything he says. He’s not, admittedly, not paying that much attention to his exact words, but rather to the smooth sound of his voice, to the way he leans over him and shrouds him in his resonating warmth.

                He drifts off, wondering what it would be like to hug the younger, wonders if he’s as warm as remembers him to be when he leant across to kiss his cheek. He wonders what Paris will be like, given that all other times he’s gone, he never got on well with assistant like he does now. He wonders – _hopes_ – they have time to tick off as many of the sights as possible that Sanha is desperately showing him now, hands fluttering across the pages, pointing to cafes and art pieces and cute alleyways, Minhyuk’s smile not faltering once as he does so.

                As Sanha continues to squeal and ramble about the things he wants to see and do and eat, Minhyuk merely zones out entirely, and settles on watching the happiness dance in Sanha’s eyes instead.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

                “You know, I’ve only been on planes with you, Minhyuk.”

                “Mm.”

                “But, I still get really scared when the plane takes off.”

                “I see.”

                “S-so.” The plane started rumbling and the seatbelts on sign lit up. “So, don’t think I’m weird if I freak out.”

                “Alright.” Finally the plane started rushing down the runway with speed that made Sanha nervous. He tried to hold himself with some dignity, but when the plane just began lifting off the runway he turned and hid his face into Minhyuk’s shoulder. It was surprising that Minhyuk hadn’t tensed up when he did, rather Sanha felt a hand on the top of his head that smoothed out his hair gently. There was a habit forming with that, Sanha noticed.

                They were currently on their way to Paris for Paris Fashion Week, and Sanha was ecstatic. He had never been outside of Korea before (other than that one trip to America when he was quite a bit younger) and the idea of doing it with Minhyuk of all people was making him excited. True, Dongmin and Bin were also going, but his brain was easily deciding that it was a whole separate trip from the other two. Bin was going to look for more connections with other magazines and for more recruits, while Dongmin was going to look into more makeup styles that would be used in their editorials. Other than that, Dongmin was also coming for vlogs for their digital magazine as well. He had shown Sanha a few clips from vlogs he had filmed before and he was thoroughly impressed at his editing skills.

                The eleven hours of flight would be halfway forgotten from Sanha’s many spontaneous naps, but Minhyuk would wake him up when it came time to eat. The food on this plane was rather incredible – Sanha assumed it had something to do with the business class status – but either way he still snapped lots of photos of it and a few sneak shots of Minhyuk eating until he swatted his phone away.

                Sanha was thankful that the plane ride came to an end despite how nice it was to spend time next to Minhyuk. They hurried out of the airport and got to the hotel safely, Bin and Dongmin parting from Sanha and Minhyuk to go to their own hotel room. Sanha didn’t stick his nose into anyone else’s business, but it piqued his interest as to why they only had _one_ hotel key. Then again, he couldn’t speak much considering he and Minhyuk only had one too. They were different though since they had a totally reasonably close relationship. An assistant had to be close with their employer, after all.

Since they had gotten to Paris at only eleven in the morning, they set their stuff down and made their way out to explore the city. Minhyuk informed him that he had been three times prior but hadn’t really gone sightseeing before. That was fine, because Sanha had a beautiful itinerary of the places they just had to go to while they stayed here. First they had to go to a famous pâtisserie to try an authentic croissant and of course crêpe.

“It sounds like you’re here for the food.”

“ _Obviously_ , Minhyuk. Are we just stating facts now? In that case, Paris is beautiful!”

Sanha was lucky to have Minhyuk at his side during this adventure once he had revealed that he was near fluent in French (“It’s one of the languages of fashion, why wouldn’t I be?” he quipped when Sanha gasped).

“Je voudrais deux croissants s’il vous plaît.”

In a very small, hushed voice, Sanha leaned in to Minhyuk’s side. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’d like two croissants, please.”

“Woah…Minhyuk! Can’t you speak English too? What else?” Sanha was cut off when the cashier took Minhyuk’s card and handed him the bag with croissants.

“Merci beaucoup.” Sanha took a croissant out of the bag and handed Minhyuk his phone.

“Take a photo of me eating this but make sure you get it right when I take a bite okay?”

Minhyuk bit back his comments and just nodded, snapping a photo right as Sanha took a bite. The groan he let out startled the editor-in-chief, and he handed his phone back carefully. Both decided on just wandering around until they would meet Dongmin and Bin for lunch, and since they were in the heart of Paris at the moment it wasn’t hard to find entertainment. The tiny corner shops that were littered with knick-knacks caught Sanha’s glittering eyes, and little boutiques made him tug Minhyuk into them. The fashion here was just up his alley, and whatever he would show interest in Minhyuk would quickly purchase like magic. He didn’t expect it, and he tried protesting or shoving some won into his pocket but Minhyuk gently removed his hand and gave a very slight, very faint smile.

***

Two shopping bags later, they headed to Pierre Gagnaire, which Minhyuk conformed was just as expensive as it sounded. According to a quick Naver search, it was one of the best rated restaurants in all of Paris. Sanha knew that must be a lot to live up to, and the fact that they had even managed a recommendation was rather incredible.

They got there right on time, and Sanha couldn’t help but take a million photos the second he got there. He posed and popped into the shots that Minhyuk took, too, and Dongmin’s camera kept catching him running around in awe at how pretty it was. Sanha did admit that he got caught up in the aesthetics before he sat down with the others and began ordering and eating. He was sure he had never seen plating so extravagant. The food was of course just as incredible, and they ate the meal almost in silence just to enjoy it fully.

By the time they had finished properly and made their way back to the hotel, it was already nearing five in the evening. Sanha had to admit that despite the napping on the plane ride or the walk around town, he was absolutely tired and was ready to pass out at the sight of a bed. Speaking of bed, there was only one in the room this time. Sanha nervously glanced between one side and the other, but his tiredness got the best of him and he flopped onto the bed. He was an adult, he reminded himself, he was twenty-four and sharing a bed with his boss wasn’t a big deal. After all, Minhyuk was an adult too.

If that meant it wasn’t a big deal, why was watching Minhyuk undo his tie and loosen the buttons on his shirt make Sanha want to hide his face in the pillow? The déjà vu to the other trip was uncanny, but this time Minhyuk went onto the balcony that overlooked the city rather than into the bathroom.

“Do you want a glass?”

There was a chilled bottle of champagne that was kept on the balcony per Minhyuk’s request. Sanha wasn’t much of a drinker unless he had to be (social events, birthdays, etc.) but he also didn’t mind the idea of overlooking Paris with a small glass of champagne in his hand. He nodded, “I’m going to get changed first, though. Also, I only want a little bit!”

Sanha changed quickly, sparing a few minutes to moisturize his face before walking out on the balcony with his slippers on and taking a glass from Minhyuk with a smile. He was lucky that it was so warm out, or these pajamas that Myungjun had packed him would be unbelievably cold. Minhyuk was still in his clothes from before other than the tie and jacket he was wearing, and he was overlooking the city with such a serene expression that Sanha wasn’t sure if he should even say anything. But it was alright, because Minhyuk broke the silence for him.

“Today was really nice.”

“Really?” Sanha was a bit surprised to hear him say that, especially since they hadn’t nearly done as many things as Sanha had planned for this trip.

“It’s strange.” He took a sip of his wine and glanced over at Sanha. “I didn’t expect you to do so well choosing where we went.”

“Hey! What does that mean?” Sanha grumbled into his glass.

“I just mean that you didn’t strike me as a travel planner.” He tilted his head every so slightly. “But you did well.” Sanha couldn’t help but flush at the compliment, and he tried to hide it by turning away but when his eyes caught what he _swore_ was a bright light, he turned back. However, he was somewhat mistaken when he realized it wasn’t a shining streetlight but rather the corners of Minhyuk’s mouth turning up that made his heart beat so fast so suddenly. It was odd, Sanha couldn’t think of a single person whose smile made his heart feel like that, but when Minhyuk finally genuinely and fully smiled, Sanha was just left there speechless. Minhyuk’s smile faded off and was replaced with worry after a few moments. “Are you alright?”

“Yes!” Sanha managed to choke out. “You have such a beautiful smile, Minhyuk.” Minhyuk quickly looked away from Sanha’s awestruck eyes, a blush lighting up his face. Sanha tugged at his sleeve with furrowed eyebrows, but Minhyuk ignored him by drinking more of his wine. “I need to get a photo of that for my home screen on my phone, Minhyuk.”

“Sanha-” His voice cracked and Sanha could have sworn he was holding back a chuckle, and as he kept tugging and started laughing himself his suspicions were confirmed.

There was something so comfortable about them standing so close on that balcony, giggling into the Paris skies without a care in the world.

***

                Waking up next to Minhyuk did scare him slightly, but he did admit it was secure when he had woken up a bit more and realized where he was. The light was pouring in from the window and hitting Minhyuk so nicely that he couldn’t help but snap a photo before wiggling out of bed and going to the bathroom to take a shower.

                Today was a busy day for them – they didn’t have any time for sightseeing today because they would have to meet with their designated Korean translator as well as head to the venue where Paris Fashion Week was being held to do some pre-interviews and take photos. Dongmin and Bin also had their own schedule to uphold, but they were sticking with each other while Minhyuk and Sanha did the same. Considering it was already almost ten in the morning when Sanha woke up, he supposed that was a good thing. He couldn’t help that jet lag had hit him so hard.

                 Minhyuk (once he did get up) seemed to take it pretty easily and was up on his feet a lot faster than Sanha had managed. He was still groggy when they got into the taxi and he had never been as thankful for coffee with an extra expresso shot as he was right now. It was strange not to be doing the coffee run for Minhyuk and rather to be getting it _with_ Minhyuk, but he wasn’t complaining either. He noticed Minhyuk glancing at his order (very sugary and just barely coffee at this point other than the added shots) and he offered to let him try it. He respectfully declined…which Sanha did expect considering how particular he was about what he drank.

                They finally made it to the venue and were greeted by the translator, a woman around their age with a bright attitude. She introduced herself as Kang Seulgi and said she would be helping them around the event. Minhyuk seemed unimpressed but Sanha supposed it made sense since he didn’t need the help around when he already knew French. Before Seulgi could say another word, he turned to a worker and asked them something in perfect French, surprising both Sanha and Seulgi.

                “It’s okay, I don’t know any French so you can help me!” Seulgi smiled at him and nodded.

                “Gotcha. I’ll lead you two to where you’ll be meeting for interviews and photoshoots you might have scheduled. Sat;n already emailed me your agenda so I have a brief idea of what you’ll need.” Seulgi led them to the next floor and showed her pass to a security guard. It was chaotic all around him and he felt the strong need to grab Minhyuk’s hand to feel steady, but he held back the idea when they were escorted to the room and left alone.

                “Alright, we have a few organizers of the event first, so you’re going to need to take notes.”

                “But I don’t understand French!”

                “Seulgi will be back in a bit, she’s bringing the guest with her. Here.” Their fingers brushed momentarily when Minhyuk dropped his phone in his hand, and the eye contact they made caused Minhyuk to cough and snatch his hand back. “Just record everything for now. I’ll be taking notes.”

                Sanha just nodded, staring at his hand that still felt tingly for some reason.

                A few people came in and out within the next few hours – some being organizers of the events, models, even a few designers. Each person who came in was more impressive than the next, but what surprised Sanha the most is that everyone knew exactly who Minhyuk was. Sanha knew that Minhyuk had a big presence in the Korean magazine and fashion scene, but to see French designers and models greeting him with such respect was making him have growing admiration as the people passed.

                He was proud to work at Sat;n, surely, especially with the look he gets in Seoul if someone says they recognize him from a magazine they saw or his name from his ID, but nothing was as truly wonderful as knowing he worked with Minhyuk. As he got to know him and see him in a professional setting outside of their office, he was realizing that Minhyuk really did take his job and career so seriously. He had always looked up to his parents or his brother for things like that, but he realized that he had never met anyone quite like Minhyuk. He was lucky to know him.

                They finished up the people they needed to interview a lot earlier than planned, leaving Seulgi to escort them out and tell them where to meet tomorrow for the first show. Sanha was glad to be out of there after how high stress it was but he was also glad to be alone with Minhyuk for now and to catch a bite for lunch. They didn’t have much of a break before they had to go to a few boutiques around downtown to take photos, as well as the Palais Galliera, which was just around the corner and in a Renaissance-inspired palace. It was definitely marked down as something Sanha wanted to see, and the fact that they already had to go there for photos got him excited.

                Still, he was pretty exhausted while wandering around the museum behind Dongmin, and he was just about to call Dongmin and ask him to take him away from here. Luckily for him, Dongmin said that they wrapped up what they needed to do and were heading out to see the Louvre. Sanha assured him they would be there soon, and Minhyuk wrapped things up. He did love the museum and seeing all of the big names in fashion organizes so neatly in front of him, but it wasn’t really _his_ thing. Minhyuk looked satisfied as he scrolled through the photos on the metro, and they got while Bin and Dongmin were still somewhere in the vast museum of the Louvre.

                Sanha convinced him to stop before they met with them to take photos outside, and Minhyuk agreed that it was fine. It took a while to find somewhere that Sanha was satisfied (he scrolled through Instagram for a good ten minutes to find a place that looked the most photogenic). Minhyuk held out a hand to take the phone for the photo of Sanha, but he shook his head.

                “No! You have to be in the photo with me! We don’t have any photos together, you know!”

                “Dongmin has been taking video the whole time.”

                Sanha began whining, something he knew would tug at the heart of whoever was receiving it. “That’s not the _same_! I want to keep it on my phone! Pleeeeeease, Minhyuk!” He could tell his boss was hesitating but nodded, stopping a passerby and asking if they could take a photo of them. Sanha was delighted and pulled Minhyuk in close for the photo. “One…two…three…!”

                Right before it was counted down to three, Sanha pressed a kiss on Minhyuk’s temple. The shutter went off a second after he did, and he pulled away with a bashful grin to jog up to the stranger and thank them for the photo. He could hear Minhyuk stuttering behind him, and he had a feeling he would be in trouble. “Y-Yoon Sanha!”

                “What? I’ve kissed you before, haven’t I?” Despite the false confidence he was using to put on a show, he knew Minhyuk could tell how he said _kissed_ in a hushed voice compared to the rest of his sentence.

                “Both without my permission! And this time in broad daylight in the middle of France!”

                “It wasn’t on your lips, was it? Besides, that’s how people greet here! Two kisses on the cheeks!” Sanha gestured at two women meeting up in front of the entrance, kissing each other’s cheeks and catching up before going inside. “But fine, if you don’t like it then I won’t do it anymore-”

                “I didn’t say that.” Sanha looked up from his phone with a started expression, not sure if he heard it right. Minhyuk’s brain seemed to catch up with his mouth and his ears started burning redder than they already were. “Just…just let me see the photo!” Sanha ran off in the direction of the Louvre instead, leaving Minhyuk to groan and try to catch up behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont think ive like ever posted a chapter on time huh...anways, i hope you guys enjoy.  
> here's [a little mockup](https://jingrapher.tumblr.com/post/172405998995/applqu%C3%A9-instagrams-sanha-minhyuk-click-for) of what their instagrams would be like, maybe!  
> hit me (up) @[jingrapher](http://jingrapher.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

 When he wakes, he’s warm all over.

                It’s the kind of warm that reminds him of summer when it’s the very start of spring; the kind of warm that makes him sleepy well before the day even begins. Because it’s summer that reminds him of home, of his family, of his life outside of fashion and work – and more of the quotidian, of the simple things in his life. He doesn’t see his family often, but when he does, it’s a slow-paced affair. It’s lethargic and viscous and sweet like honey; like eating half-melted chocolate in the afternoon sun; like toes playing in the salty currents; like slow dancing with no partner with the sun setting over the tree line as his stage; like—

                —Like _now,_ where his arms feel both numb and capable, wrapped around a solid form of this same nostalgic, radiating warmth. It’s all-consuming, though not stifling. Minhyuk finds himself in that elusive state of being half-awake and half-asleep, spinning somewhere in the undisguisable middle.

                He isn’t sure why he wakes, given that there’s no blaring alarm sounding in his hotel room, and from what he can tell through squinted eyes, the sun has yet to fully rise, meaning it’s still relatively early, too. Perhaps, he thinks, it has something to do with this warmth shrouding him – or is _he_ shrouding _it_? – which makes a humming noise now, shifting a little under the white, silken sheets. The humming stops, and the steady sound of breathing replaces it, but it’s a while before it evens out into contentment again. Minhyuk finds himself holding his breath till his face feels as though it’s burning, and when he inhales, it’s a ragged and strangled and a choked-off sound that startles him in the silent room.

                He needn’t look down at his arms to know what the warmth is. He merely has to just use his brain and intuition to know that the unintelligible mumbling that is lost to the column of his throat moments later is his assistant; that the weight pressing him down to the mattress is Sanha’s body using him as a pillow. He hates clichés, but Minhyuk presumes that they had arranged themselves this way in their sleep, given that they had left a respectful distance between each other when they slid into bed the night before. He hates clichés because it is a cliché that had dictated this move. But even still, Minhyuk can’t bring himself to be annoyed by it.

                Opening his eyes fully, adjusting to the lightening room, Minhyuk shifts more comfortably on the pillows before dropping his eyes downward. Sanha looks very much the same as he did the last time they were in this position, albeit the younger isn’t sick this time around. The first time Minhyuk had felt Sanha cuddled up to him like this, Sanha was riddled with a flu-induced delirium, one wherein he had decided Minhyuk was to be his remedy. Then, Minhyuk had been startled and overwhelmed by their proximity; but now, just a few weeks after that event, Minhyuk finds himself no longer terrified of the feeling of being _close._

 _Close_ in the way that he is close to Sanha. Not necessarily physically, but rather with his words and his mind and the things that he is made up of. His values, he guesses; but more so what makes him tick, what makes him succumb and what makes him rise.

                Sanha is an intense listener, but also an intense _giver_. He gives and he gives and he rarely ever takes, even when Minhyuk wants him to; and it is this reason, he thinks, that he finds it impossible to annoyed by the cliché that had closed the distance between them, made Minhyuk’s arms wrap around him, and Sanha’s head to rest gently in the nook of his throat. He can’t bring himself to be annoyed because at the way Sanha’s head is angled, he can catch a glimpse of his resting face, and it is peaceful and charming and soft all the same. He’s not annoyed because his heart tells him one thing whilst his head says another, but the former sings much louder in these matters and he finds he can’t hear the latter, anyway. Even if he could, he isn’t so sure he’d bother listening to what it had to say.

                The words Sanha mumble get no clearer, remaining unintelligible against his skin, and Minhyuk’s mind begins to cohere to his, slow-paced and viscous and sweet as those summers he’s reminded of. Sanha has a magic about him, Minhyuk thinks. A magic not that different to the magic of creation and of destruction; both a system of producing something, even if it one is designed to _tear down._ And maybe it is this tearing down that Minhyuk finds himself accustomed to, though not in the violent way the word itself suggests. Minhyuk doesn’t feel destroyed or damaged or _torn down_ ; but rather that the walls he had thought were supporting him were what was being destroyed. He thinks, as Sanha shifts again in his arms, that this could be a good thing. Though, as Sanha grunts in alertness, he also thinks that possibly he should build those walls back up again.

                For what reason, he is unsure. Was it the fear of rejection, of unrequitedness? Or was it for the fear of being unprofessional when all he has ever endorsed has been as such? He is unsure, though he knows he’s unworthy of anything he feels toward his assistant – painfully, unwillingly, though without regret – being reciprocated, and although this thought in itself is a cliché, Minhyuk will never be good enough for Sanha.

                But at the same time, Minhyuk is somewhat of a greedy man; feeds off the selfishness of others in the sense that mass consumerism is what pays his bills and puts food on the table and Armani on his feet and Gucci on his wrist. Greedy in the sense that he doesn’t necessarily want _more_ , but rather _craves_ more – a ‘down to the bone’ sort of intoxication of the senses, pushing farther and deeper into unfamiliar territories.

                And _this_ territory, separate yet correlated: Minhyuk’s hand running up and down Sanha’s spine, the only space where he can reach, and Sanha’s breathing falling out of its sequence and into something Minhyuk knows is awareness. He doesn’t stop his movements, lost to the feeling of his fingertips grazing over the smooth cotton of his sleep shirt, though he does shift his eyes away from the sleeping boys and towards the ceiling instead.

                Sanha moves again, pressing forward and then back, hands stretching out around his head. “Morning, Minhyuk,” he mumbles off to the side of his neck, clearer now than his earlier incoherent rambling. Then, suddenly, he’s pushing against the mattress into a sitting position, eyes wide and alarmed, and mouth agape. Minhyuk gasps at the movement, jolted against the pillows, body lost to the linen.

                “Oh,” Sanha speaks again, one hand lifting from the bed to press against his mouth, cheeks turning red atop the milky skin. “Sorry, Minhyuk! Jinwoo always tells me I get cuddly when I sleep! I didn’t think I’d actually—I’m _so_ sorry, I’m just—I’m gonna’ go shower,” he rushes out, and Minhyuk wants to stop him, silence him, tell him that it was _fine_ , and that in actuality, he _enjoyed_ it; but Sanha had already slipped out of bed and had disappeared out of sight, the bathroom door slamming shut behind him.

 

 ***

                The awkwardness had remained between them during the rest of their morning in the hotel room and into breakfast, Bin and Dongmin sparing them glances over the table of pastries, before it dissipated away entirely when they parted to get ready for the fashion show. Dongmin worked quickly to get their makeup done, barely needing to touch up Minhyuk’s own, given that he had trained himself over years of diligence.

                Minhyuk’s outfit couldn’t be any more different to Sanha’s. Where Sanha wore the same outfit he had seen a few days earlier, blue trousers and a blouse adorned with lace, and that yellow over-shirt he adored so much against Sanha’s skin; Minhyuk wore an outfit made entirely of black – of black trousers and shiny black creepers, with a black high-neck turtleneck, and black hoops in both ears – aside from the jacket he wore overtop, which was a dazzling muted display of flowers with a slight shimmer in the thread-work.

                As they stepped from the car and out towards the entryway – lined by a red-carpet and a swarm of photographers and journalists -  Minhyuk couldn’t help but think they were in total opposition. Sanha, bright and lively; and Minhyuk, dark and clouded. There were stark contrasts between them both in body and in soul, but as Sanha’s hand timidly reached out for his own at the sight and sound of the crowd, Minhyuk didn’t hesitate to take it. Incompatibility, be dammed; Minhyuk didn’t want Sanha fearing this lifestyle, wanted him to enjoy the day ahead. It was going to be long, with barely an hour break for lunch before they were back into watching more shows. Minhyuk didn’t mind, given that this was his job, and it was a much-needed break from the office building. Sanha, however, might find it more gruelling, as the labels would be lost to him and even though the part of his brain that was reserved for fashion was ever-growing, Paris Fashion Week was a lot for any newbie to take on.

                With that in mind, Minhyuk drops Sanha’s hand and threads it around his waist instead, resting on the middle of his back. Minhyuk guides them forward, walking swiftly but not so rushed that Sanha would stumble. He was still clumsy, after all. They weren’t required to stop for photos outside, as the more high-publicity journalists were inside. Minhyuk wants to reassure Sanha of this, but when he turns to look at him, Sanha merely stares at the photographers with his blinding smile, hand raised to them in an informal wave.

                They’re yelling out in a flurry of French and English, of which Minhyuk knows Sanha understands very little of; even still, his smile doesn’t falter. They can’t notice what Minhyuk notices, which is the way the smile doesn’t _quite_ meet his eyes, but rather are filled with a silent sort of terror, but Minhyuk notices. He always notices. They yell for their attention, mostly, but here and there Minhyuk grasps bits of questions in broken English and French asking who Minhyuk’s _date_ was. Minhyuk’s cheeks turn as red as Sanha’s are, though for a different reason entirely. The idea of Sanha being his _date_ to anything was enough to leave Minhyuk breathless and feeling gooey on the inside.

                Once they enter the contemporary art venue, the _Palais de Tokyo_ , they are guided to a sectioned off area where a more subdued selection of journalists awaits. When Sanha sees the line-up of cameras, he tries to slip past and out of Minhyuk’s grasp, but he merely tightens his hold and tugs him along.

                “M-Minhyuk!” Minhyuk hums in acknowledgement, keeping his hand around his assistant’s waist and holding him close as they’re guided towards the correct position. “They’re not going to want me in their photos!”

                Minhyuk turns to look at his foolish assistant. “And why not?”

                Sanha’s lip tugs downward at the corner. “Because…I’m not even famous.”

                Minhyuk scoffs. “So, you’re not famous. They’re still going to want you in their photos,” he says, shrugging half-heartedly. He turns his eyes away from Sanha to look at the cameras, which are flashing non-stop and only increase when Minhyuk looks at them now.

                “How would you know?” Sanha asks, shrinking into his side, looking small and uncomfortable despite towering over Minhyuk substantially.

                Minhyuk turns back to him, smile small and fond and also indistinguishable. When Sanha meets his eyes, his gaze is unwavering. “Because you’re the most beautiful one here.” Once the words leave his mouth, and he’s rewarded with witnessing the rush of blood to Sanha’s cheeks, he turns away.

                “Now, smile, would you?”

                Sanha scoffs beside him, a genuine smile returning to his face, cheeks pink and eyes wide. “Well, one of us has got to,” he says cheekily, squealing when Minhyuk pinches his side.

 

***

                The show goes by quickly. The pieces are beautiful, albeit a little more on the quirky side than couture, but he enjoys it all the same. Beside him, Sanha is in constant awe, and Minhyuk is embarrassed to admit that he probably watched Sanha more than the array of models before him. They were in the front row, so it was probably painfully obvious, but he couldn’t bring himself to care – not when Sanha’s attention was fully on the designs going past, gasping out every time a new model rounded the corner, phone in his hand recording the entire thing.

                Minhyuk isn’t blind, either. He may have spent a great deal of time staring at Sanha, but he was a man of fashion, and it was his job to notice the little things – including the curious gaze from the other side of the runway. He had, at first, put it aside as curiosity; but with the way the man looks across the distance between them, eyes bordering of predatory, Minhyuk feels a fire light deep inside him. The man doesn’t look at Minhyuk, though, but rather at Sanha beside him – who is oblivious to the attention being thrown at him. Minhyuk isn’t surprised by any means: Sanha looks exquisite, and the outfit he wears is merely an extension of his personality, bright and loud and eclectic in a way that is rarely seen in the front row of Paris Fashion Week. Everyone around him – Minhyuk included – is dull in comparison. That hadn’t stopped the man from licking his lips and staring at Sanha, though.

                It was a possessive move, Minhyuk knew. A move fuelled by a spark of jealousy he wished to ignore, but after realising the stare wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, Minhyuk shifts one of his hands to Sanha’s knee, and tilts his body towards him more. At the movement, Sanha doesn’t flinch or stiffen beneath him; in fact, he appears unbothered, as though Minhyuk had done nothing out of the ordinary. He looks away from his phone to give him a dazzling smile, before shuffling a little closer in his chair into Minhyuk’s side.  
It’s petty of him, but when he looks over to the man on the other side of the runway, Minhyuk smirks at him, smug, and is met with angered eyes quickly glancing away. They don’t look their way for the rest of the show, but Minhyuk doesn’t dare move his hand away, either.

                At one point, Minhyuk sees Sanha send one of the videos to Jinwoo, which makes a feeling of guilt twist in his stomach at the thought of separating Sanha from his family for so long, but it quickly disappears when Sanha clutches his arm with excitement when Minhyuk tells them where they’re going after they eat lunch.

                “The _Eiffel Tower,_ Minhyuk!” Sanha skips ahead of him, Minhyuk smirking at the ground when Sanha lets out another squeal. Minhyuk has his hands in his pockets, trying to act blasé, but actually trying to compose himself around the younger. Sanha stops amongst the crowd of people on the _Champ de Mars,_ underneath the tower, and turns back to look at Minhyuk with a glowing smile stretching from ear to ear. Minhyuk can’t see his eyes, hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, but he can tell by the way his entire face pinches that the smile is in them, too.

                Minhyuk takes a series of photos, playing photographer for the younger who changes his pose every two seconds, smile not faltering once. He likes them all, but his favourite photo is one he takes when Sanha turns around to look at the tower, back to the camera, head thrown back in awe of the construction. Minhyuk watches on; he, too, mesmerised but for an entirely different reason. They don’t get to stick around long, but Minhyuk makes a mental note to bring Sanha back here one day before they leave, so he can take him up the tower instead; maybe, even if they have time, he could arrange for a picnic on the lawn somewhere. For now, though, they have to hurry back to the next venue for another series of shows, wherein Minhyuk shows off Sanha smugly, never once letting his hand stray from either his waist or his leg when they’re seated. They pose for photos and, when asked, Minhyuk will politely answer some of their questions.

                At one point, they had even asked Sanha a few questions. Minhyuk had to translate for him, and Sanha had turned his head into Minhyuk’s shoulder in embarrassment when they asked ‘who’s this pretty thing?’ Sanha had giggled behind his hand, and had shrugged as he said back to Minhyuk ‘ _not as handsome as this one,_ ’ which Minhyuk translates back to them with red cheeks and a stutter.

                That night, Minhyuk chuckles to himself as Sanha stumbles out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, towel wrapped around his head, and fall face-first onto the mattress. He lets out a ground, shuffling forwards on his tummy before shifting his head on the pillow into a more comfortable position. Minhyuk watches on, propped up on his side of the bed, scrolling through his photos of the day.

                Minhyuk thinks he’s asleep when suddenly Sanha’s hand reaches out and snatches at his wrist, dragging his hand away from his phone and shoving it up into his hair. Minhyuk grunts at the absurdity, but then Sanha jiggles his hand and he gets the picture. With a snicker, Minhyuk threads his fingers through the youngers hair, and within minutes, the boy is asleep. He doesn’t stop the movement of his hand when he turns back to his phone, though, biting his lip in nervousness as he hesitates posting the photo on his Instagram. It’s the photo he liked best of Sanha he took today, and the short caption he’s written out underneath it stares back at him, taunting him. With a sigh, he locks his phone, dropping it against his chest as his eyes fixate on the paintwork of the ceiling.

                He’s not sure how much longer it is, but all of a sudden, the space between the two of them is smaller, and Sanha’s head is resting back on his chest much like the night before. Minhyuk, in his half-asleep state, grumbles to himself as he pats around the mattress for his phone. He opens it back up to find the photo staring up at him still, and in a moment of confidence, he deletes the boring caption in favour of a far simpler one instead; one far more accurate to his thoughts then _and_ now.

                He posts the photo of Sanha at the Eiffel Tower to his Instagram, a single red love heart beneath it.

  

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

                Sanha was more comfortable than he wanted to admit while on this trip with Minhyuk. There was something in him that was telling his heart maybe it was because it was  _Minhyuk_ , but he would push that thought out for now. The rest of the week seemed to pass by rather quickly, and before he knew it they had gone to bed before they had to leave the next day. He had checked off almost everything he wanted to do in Paris (thanks to Minhyuk) and he felt content with going home. He wouldn't admit it, but he was starting to feel a little homesick now. Still, he couldn't wait to show his family all of the photos he had taken of Paris and the fashion shows.  

                He woke up to a gentle shake on his shoulder, which he tried to shake off as well. There wasn’t nearly enough sleep in his body and he could feel it. Still, the shaking didn't subside so he turned to look at Minhyuk standing over him. The window in the background showed that it was clearly still very early, at least too early for any sun to be out, and a quick glance at his phone showed it was five in the morning. 

                "Minhyuk?" He mumbled his name and dragged himself to a sitting position. "Why are you up so early?" 

                "There's one last thing to do before we leave today."  

                Without another question, Sanha got up slowly to get ready for the day and drink the coffee Minhyuk had ordered for them. After being up for a few minutes he felt awake enough to be a human. Once he had finished they headed out of the door and downstairs to the taxi that was waiting for them. Sanha still had no idea where they were going or what the plans were, especially since their flight home wasn't until ten, but he just leaned his head on Minhyuk's shoulder and shut his eyes for as long as he could before being pulled back out into the cold. He was lucky that Minhyuk had brought an extra jacket for him and also lucky that he kept a warm arm around him.  

                A glance around where the taxi had dropped them off made him notice that there was a  _helicopter_ in front of them. Sanha was suddenly very awake, and his hand gripped Minhyuk´s sleeve nervously. He had never ridden a helicopter, and from what he saw in cool cop movies, they didn’t seem very appealing. Minhyuk rubbed circles on his back with a very subtle smile and lead him to the helicopter. They put on the ear-mufflers and got in carefully, Minhyuk buckling Sanha in gently. After a few minutes, they lifted off and began the path above Paris in the clear skies. Sanha forgot his fear temporarily when he saw how beautiful it was. The streetlights and houses were twinkling under him, tiny buildings that were still shrouded in darkness before the dawn.  

                Minhyuk´s hand slipped into Sanha´s as he was gasping at the sights under him, and despite it being so god-awful loud, Sanha felt very safe and serene. Just when he thought it couldn´t be anymore breathtaking, the sun broke on the horizon and started rising above the city. The skies were painted in such pretty pinks and purples that Sanha felt like he could never forget it. He turned to Minhyuk in the spur of the moment. “Minhyuk! I think I like you, Minhyuk!” 

                Minhyuk cocked his head to the side and shook his head to show he couldn´t hear, but instead of repeating himself Sanha just gave him a dazzlingly bright smile and squeezed his hand tightly. 

                They rode around the city, Minhyuk pointing out places they had gone or important monuments, even passing by the Eiffel Tower again. Everything felt so new from so high up, and Sanha almost wished he could just say up here amongst the clouds for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, they did have to land to get back and head to the airport, and the moment they left the helicopter Sanha was giving Minhyuk a tight hug and a million thank yous. Minhyuk insisted it wasn´t a big deal as he stifled a smile, but Sanha knew he understood how much it meant to him. 

*** 

                Being back in Korea after so long in France was strange. Sanha was relieved that he could understand everything people were saying again, and he had been craving his mother’s cooking since he had left. Sure, they had found a Korean BBQ place in Paris, but that was truly nothing in comparison. Other than missing his family, he had really missed the office and his desk. He loved running around and doing small errands since they were a hell of a lot more manageable than trying to remember which brand which as they walked down the runway, and he missed the coffee runs he made before coming in to the office in the morning. 

                Despite all of this, though, it was strange that his nights of sleep were a lot less easy now. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why he had stayed up for so many nights in a row – Jinwoo suggesting it was jetlag – but he realized when he was scrolling through his Paris photos at three in the morning that maybe, just  _maybe_  it had something to do with that for the last week he had slept in Minhyuk´s arms. ‘Very shameful,’ he told himself, ‘extremely shameful, Yoon Sanha’. 

                Now that he had accepted his clear feelings for Minhyuk, it was making his job a lot harder. He found himself staring a lot more often, and the amount of times he had spaced out while counting how many times Minhyuk’s eyes had sparkled from the sunlight was immeasurable. He even noticed himself entirely missing what Minhyuk was saying just this morning.  

                Sanha had brought the coffee and pastries for the two of them that morning as usual, and upon seeing Minhyuk in his office typing away, he felt his heart pick up speed. A deep breath left his lips as he pushed the door open and set the coffee on his boss’ desk to indicate he was there. Minhyuk looked up quickly and gave a brief smile, taking a sip of his coffee.  

                “Glad you’re here, I’m going to need you to look over this article today.” He pressed print on the file he was reviewing and gestured at the printer next to him. “We got a big designer from Paris and hopefully this month’s magazine can include everything from then. I already reviewed it and wrote a second draft, but I just want to make sure there aren´t any small mistakes in it before I send it to the graphics department for their spread.” 

                “Mhm.” Minhyuk glanced at Sanha curiously and took a bite of his pastry before continuing. Sanha just stared at him with his ears barely catching what was coming out of his mouth. He leaned closer and Minhyuk trailed off, Sanha’s thumb swiping across the corner of Minhyuk’s mouth to dust off a crumb that was resting there. “Sorry Minhyuk, that was bothering me. But, go ahead!” A cute smile distracted Minhyuk for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. 

                The rest of the day and following days seemed to go a lot similarly, Sanha spacing out when Minhyuk would be in the room to stare lovingly, and once he left he would get back to work. Bin was noticing too, and when Sanha was taking a break downstairs with Dongmin, the makeup artist decided to bring it up. 

                “You and Minhyuk sure are getting close lately, huh?” Sanha wasn´t listening until he heard his name, to which he embarrassingly smiled.  

                “What do you mean?” 

                “You know, cuddling in Paris and all of that. You two are inseparable.” Did Dongmin know about how they were sleeping? And how? Sanha bit his lip and shrugged, Dongmin giving him a knowing glance and nodding. “It’s alright, I won´t ask anything more. Just between you and me though, I think Minhyuk might be interested too.” 

                He wouldn’t tell Dongmin this in a million years, but he took that sentence and let it replay in his head for the rest of the day and into the late hours of the night. 

*** 

                Minhyuk never showed when his patience was running thin with Sanha. Even when he was being this frustrating with forgetting to do things (despite none of the things he forgot being too impactful on what they needed to get done), Minhyuk would keep his lips pressed thin as he assigned it to someone else. Bin was watching this carefully, a pencil rolling around between his teeth, and Sanha could feel the stare. He grew more embarrassed at his sudden incompetence as the days past, but more that he didn't know how to fix it. No matter what he did, his mind would just go back to Minhyuk in the end.  

                It became more apparent when they were sitting in a meeting, the one they normally went over the details of the new issue for, and Sanha was taking notes for Minhyuk. They chattered back and forth, Sanha of course spaced out without any chance of return before the minutes had hit five. His hand was moving for sure, but when he was called on to give his opinion on what he was going on, he panicked. The only thing he had written down was 'PMH' over and over, tiny hearts littering the page and little doodles of the man that sat next to him. 

                Sanha cleared his throat as he glanced over what he did manage to write down subconciously, and he nervously looked up. "Er...it looks like we should have a more muted palette for the makeup spread because its mostly reds and smokey eyes this month." 

                Some of his coworkers chuckled since it was clearly not what they were talking about at the moment, but Dongmin shot him a smile and nodded. "Sanha's right! We should make sure to contact the graphics department and make sure that it's not too bright through printing." 

                He was lucky that Dongmin was so sweet towards him or he'd be out of luck. A shameful glance to his right showed that Minhyuk had his eyes on him, so Sanha covered as many tiny 'PMH's as he could, but he knew that Minhyuk had already seen some. His eraser had a lot of work to do, Sanha thought to himself, but a little nudge to his side made him realize that Minhyuk had written a small 'YSH' on his paper, too. 

***

                It was ambitious of Sanha to believe he could keep his feelings to himself, especially when he was around Minhyuk so often. Sanha found himself slipping it to Jinwoo while he was home, and he swore that his brother was going to get up and fight Minhyuk right then. 

                If he couldn´t keep a secret from his brother then he knew he was coming to a loss. 

                Minhyuk had taken it upon himself to walk Sanha home from one of the restaurants that everyone had gone out to eat at after work, since it was close enough they didn´t need to catch a taxi. The weather was a lot nicer lately, summer creeping up on everyone and allowing the nights to be longer and more comfortable. Sanha wasn´t drunk by far, barely nearing tipsy, but he could feel that the few drinks in his system were making him more confident than usual. 

                He had watched that Minhyuk had managed to only have two shots of soju, and he was a lot better at handling alcohol. It was silent between them, but they made their way down the sidewalk carefully. Sanha stumbled on a rock and was caught by Minhyuk's hand and Sanha looked up at him with a deer-in-headlights look in his eyes. Minhyuk let go when he was sure he was stable, and it fell silent again until Sanha cleared his throat.

                "The food was good tonight." Minhyuk nodded, Sanha shuffling closer to him as they walked until their arms rubbed together softly. He knew he was pushing a boundary right now, and he knew that he was an idiot for ignoring his brain. "We should go there again."

                "We as in Sat;n or we as in  _us_?" A strange question that made Sanha furrow his eyebrows.

                "We as in...I don't know. Whatever gets us there sooner I guess."

                It was quiet again and Sanha felt like pouting, the streetlights slowly dwindling as they got into more neighborhood than shops. Another turn that Sanha led had them weaving between houses, Sanha lost in his thoughts until he realized how close he was getting to home.

In a bold mood, he cleared his throat and stopped walking, Minhyuk taking a moment to realize before he stopped too. "You know, I think I like you, Minhyuk!" Despite expecting a response and getting nothing, he decided to go on once he realized that the editor probably wouldn't answer at all. "Actually, I don't just _think_ I like you, I know I do. You know I go out of my way for you so much and I thought it was cause you were my boss but at dinner today I couldn't think of anything other than how handsome you looked tonight."

He kicked a pebble aside, looking up from the ground with a pout. "Don't you see me as anything other than an assistant?"

                Minhyuk's features were graced with a warm smile, something that made the pit of Sanha's stomach stop twisting, and an arm was gently wrapped around his shoulders to draw him closer. Even though he didn't say a word to him for the rest of the walk, Sanha could feel his heart pounding in his ears, from the moment they started walking to when he gently smoothed his hair out before he went into his house.

                It was strange. Although he had never truly gotten an answer, he could feel that his face was burning when he closed the door behind him and slid to sit at the bottom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha....haha......yikes  
> really sorry for how horribly late this is. things are messy and i haven´t really been able to get any writing out  
> thank u all for the lovely comments lately! they´re so nice and much appreciated.  
> hit me (up) @jingrapher


	12. Chapter 12

                It was a _resigned_ sort of feeling, Minhyuk thought.

                Admitting you like someone—not just to _them_ , but to yourself first. It’s suffocating in the sense that it’s all you can think of, the only thing that really makes _sense_ anymore; but it’s liberating, too, as though it were also the oxygen that it had originally stolen from you. Along with this, Minhyuk seemed to find comfort in the choked-up sensation. It was a state of mind now; a way of _being_ , rather than a _choice_ of being. In accordance to this resignation, Minhyuk soon found himself empty and full simultaneously. Empty of optimism, because the idea of anyone liking him romantically was so unrealistic and skewed of a thought that he felt crazy even considering its plausibility; and _full_ of hope, hope that maybe things would change, and that maybe this lifelessness that seemed to shroud him would dissipate and leave something worth caring for in its wake.

                Though, for now, Minhyuk seemed to find solace in his jittery hand movements and rapid-fire blinking, followed by his hips bumping into the corner of his desk on more than one occasion, and in the weepy sort of way he slept at night now, bedsheets cold and empty on his other side, where in Paris, things had been so different.  

                But this was not Paris—this was Seoul, a few days before the next issues release, and it was mayhem. So, at night he slept cold and alone, without fear of sleep talking or of someone witnessing his nightmares, with no need to walk silently across his apartment floor to avoid waking anyone else up, only needing to make one cup of coffee, and not two. For some reason, it made Minhyuk feel sick.

                Minhyuk was, as to be expected in his line of work, trained to see the finer details. The small differences—in colour, in texture, _in quality_ —laid bare and open for his scrutinising eye, ready to be torn apart and put back together again by his tactile hands. These same hands, which, as more and more time passed, itched to hold Sanha’s own, were attached to the arms of a man who very much wished to hold another; and these same arms, as empty and as cold as his bed felt, connected to the body of the same man, who was, underneath the surface, _afraid_ of all these differences, because he saw far too many of them in both him and his assistant.

                But these differences—no matter how startlingly obvious and terrifying they were to his trained eye—often went unnoticed to him now. At first, they had been all he could focus on. The brightness that surrounded his assistant—not just in the way he dressed, or held himself, but in the way he had this aura that followed him around the office building—was somewhat contagious in that Minhyuk found himself missing a step around him now; felt himself staring into space and zoning out until the ice in his coffee had melted and was on its way to being warm well before he had even taken his first sip; how he had started to look for the tall brunette wherever he went, and feeling lost when he couldn’t.

                Minhyuk was, for all intents and purposes, _distracted._

                And, these trained eyes of his, didn’t miss the way that Sanha was distracted, too. In fact, it was ridiculously obvious, though Minhyuk struggled to fully understand _why._ Deep down, where his heart hammered obnoxiously loud in his chest, and in the back of his mind, where a snarky voice and cackle could be heard, Minhyuk was relatively aware of why—but he couldn’t bring himself to actually _believe_ it.

                Sanha was stumbling around the office—more so than usual—and was spilling coffee and papers and boxes left, right and centre. He, too, often stared into space, and Minhyuk had realised on more than one occasion that they had both been staring at each other before realising what they were doing. Sanha’s general clumsiness—which had always been another quirky attribute to the endless list the young assistant already possessed—had only been amplified, and it would have been endearing had Minhyuk not been so _nervous_.

                As much as he hated to admit it, Minhyuk was nervous of what it all meant still. Sure, he really _, really_ liked his assistant—more than what was probably deemed professional, but that didn’t really matter to him anymore—but because it was _his move._

                Because for all of Sanha’s actions, there _had_ been a reason. One he was trying to deny since that helicopter ride over Paris, Sanha tucked up close to his side, body warmth radiating off of him in steady waves, making his toes tingle and his heart ring in his ears, drowning out the incessant curls of air around him from the blades of the helicopter. Then, he hadn’t been sure he’d heard his assistant correctly—there was _no way_ he actually had feelings for him, was there? He brushed it aside, thinking he was imagining things again, which had been happening more and more often than usual; so much so, in fact, that had anyone _known_ about them, perhaps they’d be seriously concerned.

                The first time it had happened, Minhyuk was slouched back into his desk chair, coffee empty on the desk in front of him, and Myungjun showing him some sample lines from new designers they were picking up in the next issue. So far, he was relatively pleased with what he saw—it was a combination of minimal and eccentric, and although it wasn’t something Minhyuk usually wished to promote in his magazine, he couldn’t deny that he loved the colour palettes the designer had used, and the embellishment was far beyond anything Sat;n had seen before, so Minhyuk was excited to show it off next month. Minhyuk’s mission to become one of the most renowned fashion magazines on the planet was starting to take off—there were still the fashion giants, of course, magazines who he’d never really be able to rival—but the name he had already made for both himself and each and every one of his employers couldn’t be denied. Yoon Sanha included.

                Yoon Sanha who, much to his disbelief, was heading his way now—fresh coffee in hand, smile wide and bright and white teeth gleaming almost comically under the LED lighting of the office building. In his seat, Minhyuk’s back straightens—he hates how his body reacts instantly to the sight of his perky assistant, hates how his body _betrays_ him like this—and any attention he was paying to Myungjun is lost to him now. Instead, his gaze is fixated on the cheeky smile and buoyant wave that he’s thrown, and how Sanha stumbles just the tiniest bit over his own feet. Minhyuk winces, wishing he’d be more careful, but smiling back just as fond when Sanha breaches the threshold of his office, never needing to knock or announce himself anymore. He used to, but after a half-hearted scolding, Sanha relinquished the habit of formality and respect, in favour of just _‘coming on in_ ’, as Minhyuk had told him to do. Sanha was, above all else, a good listener—unlike Minhyuk had been, right then and there.

                Because, as Myungjun kept rambling about the different dresses on show from the designer, Minhyuk was drowning in Yoon Sanha—who placed his coffee in front of him now, who was winking, who was leaning down, kissing his cheek, and mumbling a whispered _see you later, babe,_ under his breathe, before darting from the room. It wasn’t until Myungjun was clicking his fingers in front of his face that Minhyuk stumbled out of his reverie, to find that yes, although there was a fresh coffee on his desk, Sanha had not, in fact, kissed him or called him babe, much to his disappointment, and the entire thing had been a construction of his very vivid, very _elusive,_ imagination. Minhyuk tried to brush it off, acting like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, but the ‘ _oooooh’_ Myungjun let out—loud and teasing—drew Sanha’s attention to him, eyebrows raised comically high and eyes curious. The moment their eyes met through the glass, Minhyuk tense behind his own desk, Sanha stiff in his, Minhyuk knew, well and truly, that he was _screwed._

                The second time Minhyuk experienced a hallucination—a dream state? A vision? A _dream?_ —was when Sanha had set beside him in a meeting, and he thought he’d imagined a ghost-like touch on his hand, which sat on his own knee beneath the table, and he imagined Sanha’s hand, small and soft, laced with his own. But, when he glanced down surreptitiously, his hand was lonesome and cold and very far from Sanha’s own.

                And it kept happening—three times, four, now nearing _nine_ —so for Minhyuk to assume Sanha’s confession as a figment of his imagination surely wasn’t that far-fetched. Because Minhyuk knew all about detail and differences and refinement; he knew that the differences that sat between Sanha weren’t debilitating, but enough that Sanha shouldn’t find anything appealing within him. But  _despite all_ _of this_ , despite Minhyuk’s attention to detail, he was still struggling to know what was real, and what was not.

 

***

 

                Minhyuk finds the coat rolled up into a ball and shoved deep down inside the waste basket beside Sanha’s desk. It’s that offending piece of clothing, the overcoat that Minhyuk had hated on first sight but had dutifully grown to love because it was cohered to his equally loveable assistant, and acted so much like a second skin that Minhyuk was startled to find it in this situation. At first, Minhyuk thought this was another one of his waking dreams—his imagination playing tricks on him again—but Sanha’s vacant desk, alongside the lack of coffee on his own desk, was an indication that perhaps this was actually happening.

                Confused, he sets his tablet and notebook on his desk, before returning to the bin and fetching the coat out. It’s damp beneath his fingers, and he screws his face up in disgust before he realises it isn’t anything equally offending from the rubbish, but rather something _on_ the jacket before it had been put there. Unfolding the tan corduroy, Minhyuk can see the faded red splotches across the front, in between the buttons and across the breast pocket, as though Sanha had attempted to scrub as much of it out as he could, but had given up when the final stain wouldn’t wash out. Something in Minhyuk’s chest pinches, though he can’t place it directly, but it doesn’t sit well with him.

                He shifts his body around, holding the jacket closer to him and brushing off a few stray pieces of torn up paper from the rubbish, before sighing deeply. He grunts to himself, a noise meaning nothing in particular but many things at once, and proceeds to head off in the direction of Bin’s office. He storms in unannounced, uncaring for the way Bin stands suddenly, a yelp—sounding more like a scream, realistically—slipped between his teeth, and eyes wide and alarmed at the sudden intrusion. He’s working on something on his computer on the far wall, and he immediately pauses the R&B music that was playing in the background.

                Without saying anything, Minhyuk throws the jacket onto the workbench in the middle of the room, and Bin flinches at the sound of the metal buttons colliding with the benchtop. Whatever the reason was behind the disposal of the jacket, Minhyuk is convinced by this reaction that Bin knows the gory details. When he doesn’t speak for an entire minute, Minhyuk feels his patience stretching thin.

                “Mr Moon,” he says, voice coarser than he had intended, and he felt, suddenly, that the anger had affected him more than he initially thought.   

                Again, Bin flinches, but steps forward now, hands outstretched to the jacket. Rather than picking it up, he just sets his hand on it, eyes softening at the feeling of the wet material. He sighs just as deeply as Minhyuk had, and when he shifts his eyes back up to him, Minhyuk knows it isn’t good news.

                “I sent him home,” he explains, and he must detect his fury, because his hands are held up in front of him, as though directing traffic, within the next second. “Listen, I know he’s _your_ assistant, but he was crying on my shoulder and Dongmin agreed that sending him home was the best—”

                Minhyuk cuts him off, “he was _crying?_ ”

                Bin nods once, eyebrows pinching together in thought, eyes resettled on the jacket. “They were…” he starts, shakes his head, starts again. “At lunch, a few workers were making some… _comments_ , about him and—,” his eyes dart up to him, cheeks flushed red, “—you and they were just, I mean. You know what people are like, Minhyuk.”

                Minhyuk ignores the informality, and takes a step closer. “What did they say?”

                Bin shrugs, eyes shifting nervously. Minhyuk steps closer again. “Moon Bin. Don’t make me ask again.”

                The taller man swallows, but nods. “They told him that you would never reciprocate any of his feelings if he continued to, quote, ‘ _dress like a homeless man’_ , unquote. Then they proceeded to…dump pasta down his front.”

                It’s his turn to flinch now, and he goes to speak, cheeks pink at the thought of people suggesting Sanha had feelings for him, but Bin is already stepping back to his desk. “I know what you’re going to say,” he starts. “But just know, that none of us that truly matter, _care_ who you do and don’t associate yourself with; and frankly, we’ve all been suspecting this for a while—it was only a matter of time until one of you actually _admitted_ it. What I’m saying Minhyuk, is that Sanha would do anything for you—even, heaven forbid, _change_ himself. You need to talk to him, and soon,” he stops, swallowing around his words, as though fearing Minhyuk’s response.

                “Before he thinks you don’t like him back.”

 

***

 

                When Minhyuk picks Sanha up the next morning, the boy is shivering out in the cold, a scarf around his neck but his arms unadorned by a jacket. Minhyuk questions whether or not his assistant owns another jacket, but he remembers Sanha mentioning that the tan jacket had been _lucky_. When the car stops, Sanha clambers in quickly, sighing at the warmth of the interior. He mutters a brisk _good morning, Minhyuk,_ as usual, but his cheeks are pink—pinker than the cold would produce—and he’s gnawing on his bottom lip with his teeth.

                Minhyuk reaches to the empty seat on his other side, producing the freshly dry-cleaned jacket—now free from red pasta stains—and passes it wordlessly to his assistant.

                Sanha takes it with nimble fingers, eyes widening, and before he can speak, Minhyuk presses a finger his lips. They’re soft against his skin, and Minhyuk wants to sigh slightly at contact, but he swallows it down into silence. “Don’t worry, I get it…but don’t listen to them, okay?”

                He swallows again, drier this time, and fuelled by more nerves. Sanha’s eyes are glassy when Minhyuk leans closer into his side, “I like you no matter what you wear.” He taps at one of the exposed buttons of the jacket, smirking at the alarming shade of red on Sanha’s cheeks. “But I’m a little biased, maybe.”

                The rest of the car ride is silent, but the words left unspoken between them are loud and clear.

 

***

 

                It’s hectic in the office.

                A series of unplanned meetings pop up and a designer has pulled out of a campaign, and Minhyuk can’t help but think that once this day is done, he’s going to have no hair left given how frantically he’s been tugging at it all day. To make matters worse, Sanha is nowhere to be found, and he’s in desperate need of caffeine. Normally, he could go fetch his own if Sanha was otherwise preoccupied, but given how busy it is now, he can’t afford to go missing for twenty minutes in order to go fetch it. And his assistant, though missing himself, is surely up to something important—he’d never leave Minhyuk in the dark normally, so Minhyuk knows not to worry _too_ much, but he can’t help but feel frantic and somewhat alone as he scurries to grab his belongings from his desk.

                He’s nearly ten minutes late to meeting, something Sanha would normally hassle him out the door towards so he was always five minutes early, but surely, they’d understand given today’s schedule. He accidentally knocks off the photo frame—still empty, still pointless, but a gift from his boss before him, and he didn’t have the heart to give it away—falls to the ground in his haste to get out the office. He curses under his breath, and bends down to pick it up, just as Myungjun hurries into his office. His eyes are wide and alarmed, and Minhyuk already knows what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.

                “I know, I _know_ , I’m late—I’m coming, _I’m_ _coming_ ,” he explains, holding his free hand up in front of him, the other balancing the photo frame back on the desk. He grabs his phone and tablet and notebook, snatches a pen from the cup holder as he passes Sanha’s desk, because he never has any of his own, and goes to round the corner with Myungjun at his side when someone calls his name from behind.

                He stops in his tracks, head snapping around to the culprit, ready to snap at them for the aggressive tone they were using with him. When he spots Sanha though, hurrying out from the elevator—coffee in hand, _bless him_ , and cheeks pink from the wind outside—he softens.

                Then, all at once, Sanha is scowling. “Aren’t you supposed to be in meeting right now Minhyuk?” His assistant glances down at his wristwatch, eyes widening. “Minhyuk! I leave for ten minutes and this place turns to shambles! Hurry up, you’re fifteen minutes late!”

                Beside him, Minhyuk hears Myungjun snort, but Minhyuk just smiles softly across at his assistant, who shakes his head in disbelief at him. Then, his coffee is being shoved into one of his free hands, and Sanha is pushing his chest in the direction of the meeting room. “ _Go_ , Minhyuk!”

                Myungjun grabs his arm, as if to tug him along when he doesn’t move, and before Sanha can move away, Minhyuk reaches out to stop him. Sanha eyes him curiously when he stops to say, “thank you, Sanha,” and they flutter when he reaches up on his toes to kiss him.

                Its barely a peck—lasting less than a second, even—but its soft and electrifying and languid all at once. It has a calming effect, and when Minhyuk draws away, he hearts a grunt coming from behind him, and then he’s turning on his heel and hurrying towards his meeting. It isn’t until it’s halfway through when Myungjun jabs at his side, earning him an angry scowl, that Minhyuk suspects something is wrong. There are a few curious glances thrown his way throughout the room, but it’s the particular one from Myungjun that worries him most.

                “When did you and Sanha start dating?”

                Minhyuk chokes a little on his coffee, teeth biting down on the straw. He apologies to the room when they stop speaking, and when they resume their conversation, he turns to his co-worker. “We’re not dating?”

                Myungjun snorts, “you just _kiss_ all your employees then?” He puckers his lips at him, “where’s _my_ kiss, boss?”

                Minhyuk looks at him in confusion for a moment, and then he drops his coffee.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i love all of u so much!!!! sorry that this was late :( asha and i are so hectic lately! ilysm xo


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